A Suitor for Ashe
by Crysty
Summary: Five years after "the end" in an ending where Balthier and Fran do NOT send word of their survival, Ashe is forced onto the marriage market. Larsa Solidor is coerced into presenting himself and brings with him a mysterious judge magistrate. Balthier/Ashe
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Thank you, thank you, thank you to Lins, my beta.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters, this world, or this game.

* * *

**A Suitor for Ashe**

**Chapter One**

_It was in the fifth year of her reign that Ashelia B'Nargnin Dalmasca was forced to suffer the indignity of being asked by her Parliament to marry and provide an heir to the throne._

_She had not suffered the first five years lightly, and to be imposed thus was simply intolerable, even as she was aware of the fact that she knew that Parliament had good reason to worry. If any unpleasantness were to befall her, Dalmasca would be inflicted with civil unrest while would-be usurpers bickered among themselves for the right to go next._

_And so, a husband hunt was reluctantly begun._

_To Rabanastre, the suitors ventured..._

_Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia_

* * *

"This is ridiculous." Her gaze burned with impatience, her voice dripped with contempt. And it took everything she had within her to keep from bursting up from her seat in a rush of skirts and vitriol, and throwing a good, old-fashioned temper tantrum.

Lady Penelo, her majesty's lady-in-waiting, maintained eye contact with the floor, feigning indifference to the situation. If she heard the vulnerability in the modicum of tremors in her queen's voice, Penelo kept the knowledge to herself.

"Please, your highness, surely you see the reasoning behind Parliament's decision."

"I am _aware_ of the reasons why I must marry," Ashe replied. She turned away from Prime Minister Garrett. "But I don't understand why you must make foolhardy threats of taking away my crown. I would think that my actions five years ago more than proved my rightful place on the throne."

"We are not disputing your birthright; we're just concerned..."

"Why? I am perfectly healthy and well-protected. As well as perfectly capable of protecting myself," she replied haughtily.

"Oh, of course, Your Highness, but, simply put, it's been five years-"

"Five years that I've devoted to rebuilding our kingdom, making peace with our neighbors, building a Parliament system that I am beginning to question the value of..."

"Of course. But...well, you've taken care of things. The kingdom is stable, the treasury is solvent for the first time in generations...you've done excellent work," the prime minister admitted.

"So why not let me ensure the line of Dalmasca on my own time?"

"We simply think that, given the proper...er...incentive, you might focus your energies to the task."

"Strange how your 'incentive' seems to sound like an 'ultimatum'," Ashelia observed.

"Perhaps it is, but...but clearly the people adore you! We only wish that you'd give our citizens comfort in the knowledge that Dalmasca's reign will continue...You are going to turn twenty-five soon."

Ashe turned her gaze away from the man, and contemplated her fingernails.

He'd been dismissed. The prime minister swallowed, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. He turned to Lady Penelo for assistance.

Penelo cleared her throat. "Perhaps your Lordship would allow for Her Majesty to think over the situation? You must admit that your...news...is quite astonishing."

The prime minister opened his mouth to argue, but Lady Penelo had already taken his arm and turned him around. "But there are still some details, regarding-"

"If you could have the details of the...bill presented to Her Majesty's Chief Counsel, perhaps she will look them over later, when she has had time to reflect on the situation? Surely, you must admit that being told that you must marry within three months would be off-putting for anyone."

Her smile was so winsome, her voice so sweet, her words so reasonable, the prime minister really didn't have a choice...or a chance. "Y-yes. Of course."

"Wonderful. Have a good evening, sir."

"Ah, yes, Lady Penelo." The Prime Minister turned back to look at the queen. She'd gotten up and was wandering towards the balcony. "Well, ah...should Her Majesty have any questions, please, inform her that we are at her disposal."

Penelo nodded as she turned to the guards, signaling that audiences of any sort would simply have to wait until the morrow. She sighed with relief as she heard the doors of the outer chamber shut with a loud, heavy boom.

* * *

The setting sun set the sea of sand alight in colors so vivid that she felt them sting her eyes. She considered the long stretch of desert before her, and let her gaze fall on that horrific monument, the Bahamut, which signified the end of so many things. With every day that had passed in the last five years, a bit more of the connection she felt to it had faded. A bit more of the memory that haunted her left her.

And she did not want for it to.

The wind teased her hair out of the elaborate updo that it'd been combed into that morning. She tore the comb from her hair and let the strands fall out, letting them whip wildly in the wind.

She was alone...and lonely. Penelo approached her queen carefully.

"He's right," Ashe admitted tiredly, quietly. "They're right."

Penelo sighed as she approached her friend, putting a comforting hand on the cold shoulder. "But."

"But..." Ashe said quietly. "I'm not ready yet."

Penelo bit her lip. "I-it's been five years now, Ashe."

Ashe turned to Penelo, mouth open, to protest that Rasler had died many years before.

"I know that you've been waiting. But I don't think they're coming back," Penelo said quietly. "I don't think _he's_ coming back."

Ashe turned back to the horizon. Her dignity insisted that she deny her friend's claim, but her heart cried to be acknowledged. "I-it wouldn't have worked out anyway," she mumbled.

Penelo rubbed her queen's shoulder comfortingly. "I miss them too. N-not the way you do...but..."

"Idiot. He was such an idiot," Ashe bit the words out.

"He did it to save Rabanastre. You...you know that without his and Fran's actions-"

"I know," Ashe said quietly. "I-I ask myself if things could have been resolved differently. I-I dream about them turning out differently."

Penelo sighed, leaning a head on Ashe's shoulder.

"Penelo...I wish I'd told him."

"You didn't know then," the girl said levelly.

"No, I guess I didn't. But still!" The last word was uttered feelingly, wrenchingly.

"Still," Penelo said quietly.

Ashe pulled away from her friend and leaned on a cold stone pillar. "It's...I guess I saw the...bill coming," she sighed. "It...it makes sense. And is necessary. But it's just a bit mortifying, you know?"

Penelo gripped her friend's hand tightly. "You have no reason to feel ashamed; you weren't sitting idly by. You were busy."

"Yes, I was," Ashe mused.

"And if you aren't ready, maybe there's something we can do, somebody in Parliament we can talk to..."

"I...I have to be, Penelo," Ashe said. "They're right. You're right. It's been...it's been five years. And I'm a queen. I have my people to think of. My line. I'll make myself ready."

"I wish it didn't have to be this way, Ashe."

"Me neither," Ashe sighed.

* * *

"...and the disputes with the traders from Bhujerba?" Larsa asked, looking up from his papers.

"Resolved, my liege," Kilbourne replied easily.

"Of course. And I'll wager once you were through with them they were willing to pay _us_ to take the spices and madhu off their hands?" Gabranth conjectured, a hint of pride in his teasing voice.

It was somewhat amusing, Larsa observed, that the more serious Kilbourne became, the more determined Gabranth became to lighten his fellow judge magister's spirits. As Gabranth had had more than his share of pain and loss in his past, it was a relief to Larsa that Gabranth was learning to embrace levity.

Not that Larsa was overly concerned with the emotional wellbeing of his judge magisters. But he did spend a lot of time with them. And before Gabranth's marriage, well...he'd been a bit harder to deal with, a bit harder to sneak out on.

"Rjth?" he asked of the last member of their conference. "Any news from your quarter?"

"The hunt begins," Judge Magister Rjth observed levelly, handing over the invitation that the palace had received not an hour ago.

"Hunt?" Larsa asked, taking the parchment into his hands, scanning the letter carefully. "This is an invitation to a ball."

"A ball to introduce Ashe to suitors."

"Ashe seeks a husband?" He couldn't help a laugh of befuddlement. "How in Ivalice...?"

"There are reports that her newly-founded Parliament's first bill was to mandate that the Queen marry by her twenty-fifth birthday," Rjth observed.

"-which is why she shouldn't have bothered putting together a Parliament," Kilbourne scoffed. "Is she to present an heir by twenty-seven? This is ridiculous."

"But surely you can see the necessity of Dalmasca's securing an heir?" Gabranth replied carefully. "The Parliament is acting in the best interest of the Queen, and the kingdom."

Kilbourne glared across the table at Gabranth. Gabranth looked to Rjth for support, but she remained silent. Really, the woman exhibited no spousal loyalty at all; the trials of marrying a Viera. He cleared his throat. "I suppose we should be glad that our own emperor has no such obligations."

Rjth kept her voice steady and smooth as she proceeded on her next words. There was no other way to say it: "The Senate has informed me that they wish for Larsa to present himself as a suitor."

Larsa slammed his hands down on the table. "Me? But I'm seventeen!"

"Ashe was married when she was your age," Rjth observed.

The young emperor's eyes flashed dangerously. Gabranth sympathized with his Lord Emperor; Larsa had barely had a chance to experience childhood. To be obligated to also step up to the possibility of taking a wife at his age...

Gabranth turned to examine Kilbourne for a hint of emotion. The man's jaw remained set, his lips unmovable in expression. "Her majesty turns twenty-five in three months," Gabranth ventured.

"Not a lot of time," Kilbourne replied.

"She had five years to choose her partner without pressure," Rjth replied.

"If that's a hint, I'm not taking it," Larsa replied. "I adore Ashe, I do. But as a _sister_! If we were to marry..."

"The Senate cannot mandate that he present himself," Kilbourne observed.

Kilbourne was gripping his helmet so tightly that his knuckles were white. Gabranth turned to Rjth, who gave a small, near-imperceptible nod. "It's been a while since you've seen her," he argued to Larsa. "At least three years. Perhaps you might consider..."

"Absolutely not," Larsa replied.

"The Senate does not mandate that you marry her, but simply that you present yourself," Rjth supplied.

"And given the latest tension over the Oreliana Bill, perhaps you could placate them by making a visit, at the very least," Gabranth observed reasonably. "Kilbourne can go with you; having tied up his matters in Bhujerba entirely too efficiently, he is at a loss for things to do."

"I have plenty to do," Kilbourne replied.

"Come now, Kilbourne! You can brood around just as easily in Rabanastre as you can here, until you find something else to do," Gabranth observed.

The two Judge Magisters stared down. Larsa watched them carefully.

Kilbourne placed his helmet on the table and pulled a hand through his auburn hair, muttering to himself.

The beast of it was, the Senate _had_ been quite annoyed with Larsa lately, and it hadn't been solely over the Oreliana bill. They called him willful; Larsa conceded that things were difficult, that he was more assertive in voicing his opinions.

There would be more difficult times ahead. And perhaps there was merit in making a gesture or two that the Senate would approve of. "What say you, Kilbourne?" Larsa asked.

Kilbourne looked down at his armor, straightening the cuffs of his silk shirt underneath. "I think that the opportunity to...reassess your relationship with Ashe, as well as placate the Senate, is too...reasonable to dismiss."

"Reasonable?"

"Yes," the man replied through gritted teeth.

"And will you accompany me to Rabanastre?"

Kilbourne looked up from his fastidious examination of his armor. "I am at your disposal, my liege."

"Well, then," Larsa replied. "I suppose it is settled. We will go for the ball, and stay only for the night."

Kilbourne nodded. "If I may be excused, your highness."

Larsa nodded.

Kilbourne pushed himself up from his seat and after pulling the helmet over his head, he turned to Gabranth. "Marriage has made you...annoying," Kilbourne muttered before turning to exit.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Not one suitor expressed more reluctance towards the pursuit of the Queen than Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, Emperor of Archadia. He ventured forth to Rabanastre with a heavy heart, not to mention an unhealthy portion of attitude._

_Perhaps it was just as well that his most trusted, his most honest Judge Magister Kilbourne was brought along to keep the young monarch in line._

_Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia_

* * *

"...and I take it that plans have been finalized for the trip to Rabanastre?" Gabranth asked.

Kilbourne opened his valise and started placing the meticulously laid out items from the bed into the case.

"All parties have confirmed. We are set for a departure tomorrow morning." Upon seeing Rjth's disdainful examination of his kit, he sighed. "Yes, Rjth?"

"If you hope to woo, I should hope that you pack something more elaborate," she replied succinctly.

Kilbourne gritted his teeth. "I have no intention of _wooing_."

"No intention?" Gabranth asked.

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Kilbourne shot back.

"Have you not spent the last five years-"

"I have spent my last five years wisely, and well. I defend a land that I love, serve a good man, and have the pleasure of taking on tasks that I enjoy," Kilbourne asserted.

"And that is all you want?" Rjth asked.

"It's the most I could ask for."

"What foolishness is this talk?" Gabranth questioned.

"We came here so that-" Rjth began.

"Rjth, we came here to start over. We have," Kilbourne asserted.

"I had always assumed that, once you felt you had proved yourself-" Gabranth began.

"Proved myself? To whom?" Kilbourne laughed incredulously. "I assure you, I am well aware of my most excellent qualities."

Gabranth and Rjth glanced at each other.

Kilbourne looked at the two, sighed, and turned back to his case. "At first I was reluctant to leave with Larsa, but it is clear that this vacation is long overdue. It will be liberating to be away from the two of you, if only for a day."

Gabranth grinned widely as he put an arm around his wife's waist. "Come now, Kilbourne. You'll miss us."

"You _must_ stop this cheerfulness. It's absolutely disgusting," Kilbourne quipped.

Gabranth gave a gruff guffaw. Rjth sniffed with amused derision. "You will protect him?" Rjth asserted.

"But of course," Kilbourne assured her. "Larsa will be safe with me."

"If we are needed-"

"Your presence won't be necessary."

"Larsa has grown...restless as of late."

"I can remember what being a teenage boy was like, Rjth. It wasn't _that_ long ago. I will watch him. Now if you don't mind, I must arrange a few more matters before tomorrow's departure," Kilbourne turned to gaze at the couple. He'd had just as much as he was going to take.

Knowing they'd been dismissed, Rjth put an arm on her husband's armored shoulder, ushering him towards the door of Kilbourne's chambers. "Come, let us go."

"Safe travels, Kilbourne," Gabranth tossed over his shoulder.

Kilbourne nodded.

With the closing of the doors, Kilbourne listened for their retreating footsteps, their withdrawing conversation. And smiled tiredly. Perhaps he was a bit happy for his friends. Now in the comfort of solitude, he drew the curtains of his windows and lit a lantern. He withdrew a small envelop from the depths of his dresser.

Fingering the flap, he simply stared at it. He hadn't opened it for five years. He turned to look at the valise. Perhaps...

No. Kilbourne placed the envelope back, deep in a corner behind his shirts.

"No."

* * *

"I think it would be wiser if one of us also went," Rjth told her husband as she unbuckled and pulled off her armor in the privacy of their chambers.

Already free of his armor, Gabranth stopped pouring the wine, and raised a brow in inquiry.

"For Larsa's safety," Rjth elaborated.

"Larsa? Do you really worry that Kilbourne will be distracted by the queen?"

Rjth pursed her lips in thought as she happily laid aside her boots. Of all the things she'd had to do since becoming a judge magister, adjusting to the unusual footwear had to be the worst. "He assures us he will not. And in the past, while he was not hesitant to...enjoy the attentions of the opposite sex, he always maintained focus when necessary."

"Then...he likely will not," Gabranth sighed.

"He has not seen her in five years," Rjth stated.

Gabranth nodded. After a sip of wine and an appreciative sigh, he pondered aloud, "I wonder if Larsa will figure it out."

"Undoubtedly. The boy is sharp, and has always wondered at the secrecy."

"Larsa will use the knowledge to his advantage-"

"-which may not have an adverse result."

Gabranth laughed. "I will admit that I wish I could go, just to watch what happens."

Rjth pulled her hair out from the confines of her ponytail, letting the luxurious curls fall freely around her shoulders. The candlelight danced in the iridescent strands. Gabranth sighed with admiration. "But there is something to be said for staying here together. Alone."

Rjth smiled slyly, approaching her husband to take the glass from his hand. He interrupted the gesture by taking her hand to his lips and placing a kiss on the palm.

"Perhaps," she replied, caressing and kissing her husband's scar before taking her glass.

* * *

"I thought that the goal of the ball was to present her with suitors, not competition," Larsa sighed with disgust as he passed the fifth gaggle of giggling girls in the hallway.

"Matchmaking mothers cannot resist an opportunity to throw their own daughters at the parade of eligible bachelors," Kilbourne mused.

Though all the machinations were clearly lost on Larsa. His brow was wrinkled with annoyance as he elegantly side-stepped another dropped handkerchief.

"...and others do not mind being pursued at all," Kilbourne observed as he saw a familiar face in the center of one of those circles of ladies.

Larsa looked over, and gave a small smirk. "Of course."

Al-Cid Margrace grinned as he met eyes with the young emperor over the elaborate hairdos of his admirers. After a few kisses to a few hands, the newly crowned king of Rozarria left the small crowd of adoring ladies to approach the two men. "The little emperor is little no longer! And has grown well!" He stepped forward to shake hands with Larsa enthusiastically. Tipping his sunglasses down his nose, he grinned rakishly. "He comes to take a wife, perhaps?" Margrace turned to eye Kilbourne carefully. At length, the king stepped back, knowing smirk upon his lips. "I see you have brought the Hero of Rabanastre."

"Many heroes were made in that battle," Kilbourne replied.

"Not many went on to become powerful judge magisters, though. Powerful, decorated, titled, perhaps...eligible judge magisters? Or, so my reports tell me..."

Kilbourne remained still, absorbing the insinuation with insouciance. Larsa remained reticent, but watched his judge magister carefully. _That damned helmet_.

At length, Al-Cid stepped back with a grin. "It is good to see you again. I look forward to seeing our Dalmascan desert bloom once more, as I am sure you do. I have heard that she has only grown in beauty."

"No doubt," Larsa replied diplomatically.

"Well," Al-Cid smiled as his assistant came forward, beckoning his attention with a gentle wave. "I see I am needed. We will talk again soon?"

"To be sure," Larsa replied.

Kilbourne maintained his silence. The two stood together as they watched Margrace stroll away, hooking an arm around two blushing birds of his entourage. "To think that a nation is under the guidance of that man..."

Larsa laughed. "You know, as well as I, that Margrace's manners are deceiving."

And having been subjected to the powers of Margrace's shrewdness, Kilbourne kept his reply to himself.

"Come, Kilbourne, we must get settled soon. I have arranged to take tea with Lady Penelo this afternoon."

* * *

The sun saturated the tiles of the balcony. Despite the stark desert horizon, the palace gardens writhed with life; thick colorful leaves and blooms cheerfully hailed the sun. The sound of the gentle trickle of water in the fountains was soothing. Kilbourne took a deep breath of the fragrant, sweet air. "I was not aware that you'd made plans with Lady Penelo," he observed to Larsa.

"It was a last-minute addition to the schedule," Larsa stated. "It's always good to see old friends again, wouldn't you agree?"

Kilbourne maintained his silence, scanning the horizon.

They turned at the sound of light cheerful footfalls on the tiles. The steps came to an abrupt halt; the woman who entered was absolutely stunned. "L-Larsa!?"

She was also absolutely stunning. "Penelo?" Larsa uttered with surprise.

And right then and there, it was clear to Kilbourne that while young Solidor was well on his way to becoming a man by all physical appearances, the, er...other side of puberty was only striking its quarry now.

And there was no one else present to point and laugh with him.

"Yes, ah...it's been a while, hasn't it?" Penelo stepped forward.

"Quite," Larsa replied, his voice richer, deeper than Kilbourne had ever heard.

Kilbourne hid his unstoppable snicker by clearing his throat.

At the sound, the startled teenager turned. "Ah...Kilbourne!" Larsa exclaimed. The flustered look upon his face made Kilbourne feel a bit of pity for the fellow. "My lady Penelo," Larsa continued, "I would like to introduce to you one of my most trusted judge magisters, Kilbourne."

Kilbourne bowed politely.

Penelo smiled widely. "It is very nice to meet you at last, Judge Kilbourne. Larsa has written of you before. Good things, of course."

"He has spoken well of you, Lady Penelo," Kilbourne replied.

Penelo blushed.

What was he, a chaperone? Surely, he would have thought, having been a lady-in-waiting in Ashe's service for four years now, Penelo would have had more experience with men...

"Tea!" Penelo exclaimed, as if the thought had only just occurred to her. "We have set up tea on the other side of the gardens, in the private quarter. Perhaps we can walk over now?"

She started to turn away.

_Offer her your arm!_ Kilbourne mentally urged Larsa.

"My lady?" Larsa offered his arm.

Kilbourne could not help the smile of pride and satisfaction as he followed them down the pathway. They were not out of the woods yet, if the awkward silence was any indication, but they were on their way.

"I hope you don't mind, we have company for tea," Penelo began.

"Oh?" Larsa asked.

"When I informed Her Majesty of my plans this afternoon, she insisted on joining us," Penelo explained.

"Oh," Larsa said, awkwardly.

The news was not supposed to be taken with such hesitation or seriousness. Kilbourne mourned that this particular situation had placed an unnecessary strain on Larsa's feelings towards Dalmasca and its monarch. Had Ashelia and Larsa not been comrades before? Wherefore had the easy companionship dissipated?

"She will be pleased to see you, and she has many questions about Ba--Gabranth's wellbeing."

"But of course. I will be delighted to answer her inquiries."

Penelo reached into a wall of roses and pulled on a latch. A gate swung inwards to reveal the private gardens of the Queen of Dalmasca.

_Sanctuary._ The word saturated the atmosphere. Penelo led her guests through a garden saturated with roses in jubilant, colorful bloom.

As Larsa remained reticent, Kilbourne ventured polite conversation. "Her majesty has a lovely garden."

"Her gardens are one of her passions. She spends much time out here, reading, working on her correspondence."

"Some of the roses look quite unusual."

"They are actually bred by the Queen herself."

"Such a hobby requires patience."

"Her Majesty has developed fortitude for waiting," Penelo replied. "This," she gestured to a brilliant, sunshine yellow rose, "is her latest hybrid."

"What a brilliant color," Kilbourne observed.

"It is named Pirat--"

"My lady?"

Penelo smiled apologetically to her guests and turned to the man who awaited her notice at the far end of the rose garden. "Yes, Rawlings?"

The butler shifted uncomfortably. "It's just that the tea's been ready for a bit of time now. And Her Majesty awaits your guests..."

Penelo blushed. "Ah, yes. I'm sorry. I...I got a bit distracted when greeting them," she said quietly. "We should continue on. I--we can show you the gardens later."

Larsa smiled good-naturedly. "Of course. A good afternoon stroll after tea would be wonderful," he admitted gallantly.

Penelo quickened her steps and conveyed her guests to the far side of the garden; upon walking through another gate, the men found themselves in the presence of Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca.


	3. Chapter 3

Many thanks to my excellent and wonderful beta, Lins!

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own these characters, their world, or their game.

**Chapter Three**

_Many flocked to woo Dalmasca's Desert Bloom. At twenty-four, Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca had a beauty and grace unrivaled in all realms of Ivalice._

_And exuded a diffidence that distanced would-be suitors just as far._

_Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia_

* * *

"Your majesty, my apologies for our late arrival," Penelo spoke quickly as she entered the small enclosure. "I bring with me Larsa Solidor, Emperor of Archadia, and Judge Magister Kilbourne."

Creamy flawless skin. Young, lively rose in her cheeks. A long, elegant and kissable neck. Perfectly formed ears. Hauntingly expressive eyes with long lashes. Kissable dents at her collar bones. She'd grown out her shining hair. It was pulled into a regal knot, and punctuated with a jeweled comb. She looked tired, reluctantly vulnerable, and so very, very dear.

The hiss was so soft and muffled that not many would have noticed it, but Larsa was listening very carefully and he knew his judge magister too well. Upon hearing it, he felt something within him uncoil. And curiosity dribble in.

And once he saw Ashe's smiling face, Larsa knew he couldn't remain distant or worried. While she also appeared nervous, Ashe's pleasure at this meeting was genuine. Larsa approached the table with a tentative but companionable air, taking Ashe's hand to his lips. "My apologies, Ashe. It is Kilbourne's fault; he is quite taken by the gardens." He was looking back to the judge magister when the puckish inspiration struck him. "He has a fascination for...desert blooms," he said with a grin.

The judge stood motionless and did not acknowledge the young emperor's jibe at all.

_Damned helmet._

"It is very good to see you again, Larsa. You look very well," Ashe greeted the young emperor with a gracious smile. Ashe then turned to the judge magister, who returned her attention with a slight bow and a placid, "Your Majesty."

And because she was awkwardly extending her hand in greeting, Kilbourne stepped forward, moving surprisingly quickly and noiselessly for a man in a full suit of armor. He took her hand in his bulky armored gloves and gave it a confident shake.

She'd never thought of herself as petite, but her hands were dwarfed by his large ones.

Ashe examined the judge magister carefully. She couldn't help the flutter of nerves; the impulse to mistrust these Archadian guardians of justice had been ingrained too deeply to ignore. And like all the judge magisters she'd met in the past, Kilbourne was tall and very intimidating. The helmet he wore had harsh severe lines, sharp angles. She wondered if they reflected his personality.

His grip was quite strong. She felt agitation tickle up her arm. Ashe withdrew her hand. "So this is the infamous Judge Kilbourne," she said at length, when she found her voice again. Her voice had lost some of its regal fluidity; she was disgusted with the slight rasp. She kept her expression serene all the same.

"Infamous?" Larsa asked, a hint of amusement ringing in his voice, clearly unaware of the effect Kilbourne had on the queen. "Did you hear that, Kilbourne? You have a reputation of sorts."

"Not at all a surprise," Kilbourne replied easily, stepping backwards to stand next to Larsa. If he had noted Ashe's anxiety, he generously kept the observation to himself.

"I have heard many tales of your skills of trade negotiation, Kilbourne. My Uncle Marquis Ondore has lamented to me many times that he did not find Kilbourne first," Ashe elaborated to Larsa. She couldn't turn to the young man, though; her gaze was fixed on the judge magister, who, she suspected, watched her.

Kilbourne replied, his voice half-serious, half-wry, "Then I aspire to be found absolutely reprehensible one day."

His tone carried just enough warmth to soothe the intimidated nerves, and his remark carried a subtle note of a welcome, sly, sarcastic humor she'd not heard in a while. Ashe's pressed lips loosened into a tentative smile. "Please, let us sit," she said, gesturing to the seats at the circular table.

Larsa took the seat opposite Ashe, hungrily eyeing the elaborate and generously abundant spread of food. Kilbourne sat stiffly at his right.

Penelo patiently waited for the judge to remove his helmet before taking up the intricately hand-painted tea pot to pour. Kilbroune cleared his throat. "My lady, please do not hesitate. I will not be taking tea."

"Is tea not to your liking? We have some coffee from Balfonheim..." Penelo ventured.

"Kilbourne will not remove his mask," Ashe conjectured before the judge could speak. "We...we are in my private quarters, deep in the heart of Dalmasca. There is no need to maintain the mores of Archadia here," she invited, graciously.

"Thank you, Your Majesty, for your very generous offer. But I have no need of refreshment," Kilbourne said firmly.

She wanted to command for him to take his helmet off, if only to settle her nerves. Perhaps address her curiosity; who was this man? Why did he affect her so?

Foolish questions, as she was aware of her answer: he was a judge, and judges were scary.

Asking him to unmask would be selfish. It was clear that he took the duties of his position quite seriously, and that asking him to break such rules here would pain him. It would be juvenile, and unbecoming of her position, no matter how much she was tempted to do so.

She kept her disappointment to herself as she turned to Penelo to nod.

* * *

Later, after their guests for tea had left, Ashe enjoyed her last moments of privacy before she prepared for the evening's fete. Penelo sat to her side, documenting the changing light of the sky with watercolors, giving her queen the space she needed, but still available in case Ashe needed counsel.

A cool wind had come with the departure of the high desert sun. Ashe leaned into it, letting it caress her face, letting it whisk back the oncoming fears, the growing concerns.

"Larsa has grown," Ashe said, at length. "I suppose, now that I've seen him, I must acknowledge that the sprightly boy that we met so long ago _is_ old enough to marry." Ashe closed her eyes, leaning back in her seat. "He's lost that aura of impishness, hasn't he?"

Penelo smiled in reply. "He's grown taller, and well, handsomer, but I don't think he's lost all his playfulness."

"His responsibilities weigh heavier on him now."

Penelo paused in her painting and contemplated Ashe's profile. Seeing the queen's brow furrowed in pensive thought, Penelo sought to dismiss Ashe's fears. "Perhaps his letters do reveal a certain...awareness of his duties. But for the most part, Larsa writes as he always had; light, teasing epistles with funny observations."

Ashe smiled at the comment. "He's coming into his own. We can only hope that his Senate will allow him to stretch his wings. I hope there is enough agreement between the parties to ensure an effective rule."

"Well, if the rest of the judge magisters take their duties as seriously as Kilbourne does, I would wager that Larsa will be just fine," Penelo replied, applying her color-tipped brush onto the paper with a sure, steady hand.

Ashe turned to watch Penelo's progress on her painting. After another few moments, she asked, "What is known of Kilbourne?"

Penelo turned to her queen with surprise. "Kilbourne?"

"Yes, the judge magister. He seems so...serious. What have you heard the gossips say about him?"

Penelo personally thought that Ashe's calling the judge serious was akin to the pot calling the kettle black, but kept her comment to herself. To a certain extent, Ashe was right; Kilbourne conveyed a sense of somberness. Not that he was an agent of death, of course, but the judge magister had been reticent and reserved throughout their hour-long tea and lost his prior curiosity over the gardens when they all took their stroll after finishing. Penelo pondered her queen's inquiry. "Not much is known, actually."

"If only we all could maintain such privacy," Ashe sighed enviously.

And, because Ashe didn't speak for a minute afterwards, Penelo looked up from her painting and examined her queen's set jaw, distant gaze. "You are intrigued by the judge magister," Penelo observed with not a little bit of amused curiosity.

"Not so much intrigued as puzzled. It's just...we know so little of him, and yet, he's one of Larsa's most trusted advisors. How came he to be judge magister so quickly when nobody's ever heard of him?" Ashe sighed. "Maybe it's just paranoia. But Archadia's secrets..."

"...are many," Panelo finished understandingly, continuing in her painting. After a moment of reflection, she continued. "In his letters, Larsa makes passing references on Kilbourne."

Ashe nodded.

"And he seems to be a good man."

"He's given no impression of being a bad one," Ashe agreed circumspectly.

"And, mysteries aside, it is clear that Larsa and he get along very well, and that Larsa trusts him completely," Penelo ventured.

Ashe nodded her agreement. Ashe considered the descending sun in silence once more. When the bright orange ball skimmed the horizon, she got up from her chair with an air of tired determination. "I wanted to check on a few things before I got ready up for tonight's ball."

Penelo moved to put her brush down.

"No, by all means, please finish," Ashe said. "I think I need some time alone."

Penelo looked unhappy with Ashe's insistence for privacy. Ashe almost felt guilty for closing her out, but the young girl was so open and honest and imposed it on others to tiring intensity at times. Not was not the time.

Penelo grudgingly conceded with a nod.

"Thank you, Penelo." Ashe gave a small appreciative smile and stepped back into her chambers. Closing her balcony doors behind her, she turned to look through the glass at Penelo. Her lady-in-waiting stared after her for a few moments, waiting to see if Ashe would change her mind. Slowly, she turned back towards the sunset and her painting.

Ashe gave a sigh of relief as she turned and leaned against the door, closing her eyes against the oncoming evening. The oncoming doubts.

She _didn't_ want to think of Larsa as a potential husband. That wasn't a surprise, perhaps, seeing as she'd known him since he was a child. Perhaps the past five years had narrowed the gap of their ages, but he did not seem an appropriate husband, not for her at least.

However, this didn't change the fact that she did not want to think of _anybody_ as a potential husband, which was, perhaps, the bigger problem.

_Keep your mind open, Ashe,_ she reminded herself. She hadn't even met half the men that had been invited for tonight's ball. This fact was half-comforting, half-tiring.

_And in two months, three weeks, and one day, you must take one of these men as husband._

Ashe put a hand to her forehead. She was ready for this. Maybe not completely ready, but she could be. She only had to meet the right man. And she was keeping the definition of "right" open.

She'd outlined her strategy: she was going to find out what made a _wrong_ man. If she started from the list of all potential suitors and started whittling, logically, one was going to remain. And that one would work be, presumably, the best.

Or, at very least, the least worst.

The pessimism had to stop. Not finding anyone, she sighed, was not an option. She was _good_ at being queen. She was good at handling the responsibilities; she _liked_ having the responsibilities. She loved serving the family line she'd always been proud of, and she loved serving the people and land. The years she'd spent "dead", watching the fate of her kingdom subject to the sinusoidal whims of others, had been the worst. No doubt. The only thing that had made those years even remotely tolerable had been the knowledge that she'd somehow get back here.

And even given the annoyances, even given these somewhat humiliating circumstances, she'd do it again, this way exactly, because this was what she'd been born to do.

It was what she'd marry to do.

These circumstances were _part_ of it. For despicably good reason.

She couldn't keep waiting. Not anymore.

It was like losing him all over again.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters, or Final Fantasy XII.

**Suitor for Ashe  
**

**Chapter Four**

_Ashe had many suitors, and many of them appropriate. Some handsome, even. Matches to any of them would have been considered prudent, and quite respectable. Replete family coffers; coveted art collections; distinguished antiquated titles; extensive, expansive tracts of land, be it desert, meadow, beach, or forest; all were offered to the young queen with elaborate, eloquent promises._

_Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia_

* * *

"I did not think it was even possible, but I do believe that you've grown even more beautiful since I've seen you last."

Ashe smiled politely. "Thank you, Sarlene."

"Call me Donato."

Ashe nodded.

Not able to secure the Queen's attention any longer than any of her other guests thus far, Donato Sarlene, Count of Andalucia, swaggered away to seek refreshment, as well as a chance to reconsider his tactics.

Her tiara sat uncomfortably tonight and she ached to unpin it and take it off. Her fingers itched to readjust a rogue seam. Instead, she took the glass of champagne that Penelo offered and took a mildly undignified but all the same gratifying gulp. The ball was only a half-hour old, and she was already lamenting as if the apocalypse had come and she still hadn't found anybody who remotely interested her. Finding a husband took time, she reminded herself. And she had time. It was not as much time as she desired, but it was time all the same.

And, were these men not all very suitable? Well-spoken, dignified, handsome men with wonderful reputations, as well as their own fortunes. Her cache of suitors was not to be simply dismissed. Penelo, Parliament, all parties interested had worked hard to present her with plausible options.

Simply put, any of these men would have done. She was being annoyingly picky.

She was simultaneously loathing and applauding herself for it.

Ashe held the glass flute up to the light and examined the floating bubbles in the pale liquid. She spun the glass about her finger tips, considering the effervescence in various angles, watching the strings of spheres twirl inside with her actions. It was when she looked straight through the glass that she ascertained that she was being watched. She drew down her hand to watch back without the gold filter. Larsa had entered, and his judge magister stood behind him.

And while she could not be sure where Kilbourne had set his gaze, she felt it on her.

At least, she thought she felt it. Perhaps he'd been contemplating the chandelier, or the size of the ballroom. Perhaps he was inventorying the security staff, ascertaining possible emergency exits.

But Ashe's vanity imperiously demanded that, rather than do any of those things, Kilbourne look at her. Like all other men in the room, he had to.

She shook her head, abashed by the strangeness of her thoughts. She turned away to take a more dignified and yet woefully insufficient sip of champagne.

Quick to smooth the ragged edges of restlessness, Penelo grabbed Ashe's near-empty glass and placed it on the tray of a passing waiter. And while decorum and dignity prevented her from placing her hand on her Queen's shoulder, Penelo simply smiled, conveying her support in her reassuring gaze.

Ashe smiled back, now once again serene.

Larsa proceeded towards Ashe and Penelo with long strides and an awkward smile. Kilbourne followed at an appropriate distance, his own movements quite seamless.

"Ashelia, Penelo," Larsa greeted. Kilbourne remained silent, but offered a stiff bow out of courtesy.

"Larsa," Ashe smiled. She nodded nervously at the judge magister.

Larsa smiled uncertainly. He was trying hard to call upon that easiness with which they'd had tea earlier. Penelo could sense his nerves. She put a reassuring hand on his embroidered cuff and waited until he raised his gaze to hers. "It's good to see you again, your majesty," she said, sweetly.

Larsa felt the comfort immediately, followed by a hint of something else. Embarrassment had him letting go of the lady-in-waiting's hand the second politeness allowed for it. He cleared his throat. "You look lovely." He turned to Ashe, color high on his cheeks. "Uh, both of you."

Ashe smiled patiently and fondly at the young emperor's awkwardness. "Thank you. You look quite dashing yourself." While she'd genuinely meant the compliment, she couldn't withhold the note of teasing sisterly pride in her voice.

Larsa gave an incredulous smile, the color in his cheeks suddenly intensifying.

"I understand that the Soraya Gardens have been opened for tonight's festivities," Kilbourne observed.

Ashe conceded to the judge magister's diversionary tactic with alacrity. "Yes, they have. Larsa mentioned earlier that you had an interest in desert gardens?"

Larsa's discomfort was momentarily forgotten as he barely smothered the delighted snicker. He was sure the judge magister was frowning behind his helmet.

It was evident that the young emperor had returned to his regular faculties with this topic, so Ashe pursued her course. "The Soraya Gardens are the oldest gardens in Dalmasca; they were commissioned, designed, and cultivated at the time of the castle's construction. A wedding gift from the first Dynast-King to his wife."

"How appropriate for tonight, then," Kilbourne replied easily. "May you be so fortunate to find yourself in the same long, happy partnership your ancestors shared."

Her opening the gardens hadn't been a gesture of goodwill towards her future husband, and it hadn't been done out of a foolish romantic hope. The gardens were adjacent to the West Ballroom, and she liked the West Ballroom more than the South. It was less stuffy, and the balcony was larger. The Gardens were spacious, and could accompany the large volume of guests, allowing for a more comfortable atmosphere in what had promised to be a tense situation.

Still, hearing the judge magister intone these optimistic hopes with his polite distance made her feel...different.

A happy partnership. Where her life was to merge with another's. Where their lives would have to correspond and correlate to each other's. She'd been too young to understand such promises when she'd first wedded. And she had never dared to hope for that sort of permanence when she'd fallen in love again. She was older now, wiser, and more cognizant of the advantages and obligations such a union offered. Was it what she sought? "I hope so," she replied quietly.

Larsa nodded toward the gaggle of approaching Rozarrians. "I see that we've tarried too long and have rudely monopolized the hostess, Kilbourne."

"So it would seem," the judge replied.

"I hope I will be able to speak with you later tonight," Ashe said to Larsa.

"Perhaps you'll reserve the quadrille for me, then?" Larsa asked smoothly.

"It's yours," Ashe replied.

Larsa opened his mouth to excuse himself, but addressed the lady at Ashe's side before he could help it. "And might I engage you, Penelo, for the waltz?"

Penelo looked to Ashe, surprised. Ashe smiled back. Penelo turned back to Larsa to nod with a shaky smile. "Oh yes, of course."

"Until then," Larsa bowed. After a quick but precisely executed bow, Kilbourne followed.

* * *

"So you really mean to maintain anonymity," Larsa mused over madhu.

Kilbourne sat across the small table from his master, spreading pt on a cracker. Though Larsa was sure the man was starved, Kilbourne partook of his late supper at a leisurely pace, as if he'd been at it all evening. As if he'd not spent the last seven hours without food, without water, without any sort of comfort.

Larsa had not been a fan of the ascetic lifestyle practiced by judge magisters, and had taken measures to try to change their observed customs. However, his current judge magisters all seemed opposed to giving up their privacy. And when Larsa made arguments towards his wishes for their comfort, they threw loftier purposes in his face: administers of justice could not have faces, as justice was to be blind, without prejudice.

And, they pointed out, they had already subsisted on much worse living conditions at some point in their lives.

And so, Larsa took drastic measures to ensure that when off duty, his judge magisters were treated well.

Perhaps that was why they never looked like suffering martyrs. They all of them looked healthy and hale.

Kilbourne's face had literally not seen the sun for years now. He should have looked ill, frail, weak. But Kilbourne, while a bit pale, was anything but wraithlike in appearance.

The man's shoulders were broad from hours of relentless training, training made more intense even after peace had made such precautions unnecessary. His fastidiously clean silk shirt stretched across the wide chest, and outlined the hard muscles of his arms. Ridding himself of armor had been Kilbourne's only concession to their privacy. His appearance remained meticulously and ruthlessly neat. Not a hair was too long, nor out of place. The holes in his earlobes had sealed up from years of disuse, the rakish earrings long abandoned. Honestly, even without his armor, there was nothing in Kilbourne's physical appearance to remind Larsa of the man the judge magister had been prior to his arrival in Archadia five years ago.

It was this aspect of the man's character that Larsa did not understand. Before, the man who became Kilbourne had been inordinately proud of his conquests, his free and easy lifestyle, and his role as the consummate "leading man". It seemed rather extreme to simply cut away that part of his life, especially when it had seemed so entrenched in the man's personality.

"But they are old friends, comrades," Larsa observed. "Surely, you owe it to them."

"They are a part of my past," Kilbourne mused, popping the cracker into his mouth. After taking time to chew, swallow, and take another sip of wine, he continued. "As I'd told you when I came to you; I make to move forward."

"Surely there are some aspects of the past worth acknowledging, celebrating." And while he tried to focus on his conversation with his advisor, the image of an elfin blonde with joyful eyes, soft touchable shoulders, an amazingly sexy waist, which he'd gotten to _touch_ while they'd waltzed earlier that night, appeared in his mind, unbidden. Larsa shook his head.

The judge remained unaware of the young emperor's struggle. "You found ways to acknowledge and celebrate them enough," Kilbourne replied, as grabbed a grape and popped it into his mouth.

While Kilbourne had not wanted to acknowledge and draw attention to that aspect of his life, Larsa had been adamant that the heroics, the self-sacrifice be recognized. Kilbourne had been granted distinctions, rank, and title in private ceremonies. He accepted these, but refused any other sort of public acknowledgment.

After a moment to chew another grape, and take another sip of wine, Kilbourne shrugged. "Contrary to what you may suppose of me or my past, I think it should be left where it belongs: behind us. Now, did you hear rumors tonight about the coalition the chocobo ranchers are forming?"

He'd had enough of Kilbourne's brooding, his domineering behavior. If there was ever a reason to look forward to their departure from Rabanastre, this certainly was one. If it had been at all possible, the man had grown sterner, more serious since arriving. Larsa was now completely convinced that their esteemed hostess was the cause.

Getting Kilbourne to admit thus was not going to happen, though, and Larsa knew when to pick his battles. "I'd heard some talk to that effect tonight," Larsa said quietly.

"Last year's agricultural reports do not give any sort of indication that such a price hike as they're demanding is at all warranted."

Larsa sighed, rolling up his sleeves, preparing himself for the oncoming debate. All talk of the past, of old friends was temporarily dropped. "I wouldn't say that the price hike is altogether preposterous, though," Larsa began, "if you consider the change in the new environmental regulations that Dalmasca has imposed on its farmers."

* * *

"It's so nice of you to accompany me," Penelo grinned at Larsa.

Her steps were light as she moved quickly and happily through the gardens. Every gesture she made exuded joy. She smelled of sunlight and roses. Her face was illuminated from within, radiating peace, serenity.

And even given thus, Larsa was thrown between calm and clamor. He was every moment comfortable, every moment enthralled. And while he'd been aware that nothing had changed between himself and Ashe, something very different was developing within him regarding Penelo.

The young emperor stifled the urge to stupidly grin back to her and instead offered a manly shrug of complaisance. Penelo turned to grab another bloom. A quick, expert flick of her knife released the stem from the bush, and she placed the orange rose into her basket.

Penelo calmed the fluttery beating of her heart as she focused on inventorying the flowers she'd accumulated thus far from Ashe's rose garden. She gave a surreptitious glance at Larsa, who was looking at his judge magister.

Larsa looked so distinguished, so mature now. Ashe had been right; it was hard to see, in this young man with the tall rangy build and serious eyes, the laughing boy he'd been. It was hard to deny the appeal of his strong jaw, the attraction of his luxuriously long lashes, the penetrating enchantment of his stare. His profile was strong. The line around his lips no longer curved in innocent humor; there was serious strength and resolve.

Kilbourne gave them distance and privacy, standing at the southeast corner of the garden, from where he could watch all movements in the enclosure. While he faced a different direction and appeared to be quite inattentive to their conversation, she was sure he was extremely aware of everything around them.

It was flustering enough to be left alone with Larsa, without Ashe to distract her. It was worse yet to have a witness to her awkwardness. It had been many years now since she'd felt so suffused in emotions. And she'd never had emotions such as these. "I-" she cleared her throat. "I'm very glad you came to visit. Will we...be seeing you here again soon?"

"Ah, well, that depends," Larsa said circumspectly.

"I-" Penelo bit her lip. "That is, _Ashe_ would be delighted to see you," Penelo completed, quietly.

Larsa's smile faded a bit at Penelo's remark. His eyes challenged her to open her mouth and tell him exactly what she felt; she'd always been so honest with him before, in their letters. It was a trial that she could not be so honest now.

So she tried to be as open as she could. "It would be wonderful to see you again, with some regularity," Penelo finished off quickly as she continued along the walkway. "One more, I think," she said as she carefully scanned the surrounding rose bushes for the perfect specimen. She found one of a pale peach shade on a bush of Strahl's Call.

Larsa kept his lips pursued in thought as he watched the young woman expertly snatch up another rose. At length, he replied. "I agree. It would be nice."

* * *

"And how did you find Rabanastre?" Gabranth asked.

"Hospitable," Kilbourne replied succinctly.

"And how is the queen?" Rjth asked.

"Ashelia is radiant, beloved, and well-respected," Larsa supplied. "I fear that my own credentials and offerings, distinguished and extensive as they may be, are simple and limited compared to those of my competitors."

"My liege is modest," Kilbourne duly replied. "Ashe was glad to see Larsa."

"...and?" Gabranth asked.

"Nothing more," Kilbourne replied.

"Their prior camaraderie compromises their ability to see each other as potential lovers and partners," Rjth supplied.

Larsa felt the tips of his ears grow red with the use of the word "lovers" in relation to Ashe. Especially coming from Rjth. Sometimes he wished his advisors would not be so open in the discussion of his private affairs.

"And thus ends the courtship of Ashelia by Larsa," Kilbourne declared. "Now, Larsa and I had some interesting discussions regarding the possibility of a chocobo ranch coalition--"

"A moment, if you please, Kilbourne," Larsa held up his hand in protest. "That is," he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Maybe if there'd been less talk of lovers before. Maybe it was the formality of the situation. Maybe it was his inexperience with the situation altogether. Regardless, there was only one way to achieve his goal. He had to start speaking: "That is...I have a wish for support."

"You know you have it," Gabranth replied easily.

"I have a wish for your support and advice on a petition I plan to submit to the Senate next sennight."

Kilbourne turned to Larsa, brow raised in inquiry. "You've come to conclusions on the chocobo ranch coalition already?"

"No, I've made a decision regarding the Hadelai Stevens."

"Hadelai Stevens?" Gabranth asked.

"The art study fellowship?" Fran asked.

"Yes. I am going to nominate Penelo Everling for the fellowship," Larsa said, working hard to keep his voice steady, working hard to quiet the color in his complexion.

Kilbourne swore under his breath, sure now that he knew where this was headed. Teenagers and their hormones.

Larsa turned to Gabranth and Rjth and announced the words that frightened him even as they thrilled him. "That is, I have decided that I would like to...start courting."

"Courting," Gabranth mused.

"Courting Penelo," Rjth repeated to herself.

"Yes, it is my intention to court Lady Penelo, while she remains an artist in residence here in Archadia, and, if it appears that we will suit, I mean to take her as my wife, as Empress."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these characters, or Final Fantasy XII.

**A Suitor for Ashe**

**Chapter Five**

_Young Solidor's innocent and easy disposition masked an aggressively strong resolve. Furthermore, he possessed the keen intelligence and remarkable eloquence to skillfully advance his arguments. Certainly these were admirable qualities for a ruler who would have to safeguard an entire nation's interests._

_Such skillful negotiation, however, was considerably less admired by those whose own lives were bandied about for the monarch's wishes._

_Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia_

* * *

"A mere couple of weeks after he declared that he was yet not ready for marriage..." Kilbourne muttered. "The whims of a teenager."

"This decision is not one of whimsy," Larsa began defensively. "I've given the situation a lot of thought." Larsa asserted. "And, I'm _not_ ready for marriage. At least, that is..."

Gabranth winked at his wife as he turned back to watch the young emperor. She could not resist a small smile of amusement.

"If you're not ready, why do you wish to tempt fate?" Kilbourne asked reasonably.

Larsa regained resolution and calm, as he returned to the course he'd spent the last twenty-four hours planning. "While the timing has much to be desired, I cannot in good consciousness let this opportunity pass. My interactions with Lady Penelo have led to me believe that we may suit," Larsa stated. "I wish for the chance to confirm this hypothesis. I do not intend for our marriage to be hasty by any means; the fellowship is for a year, and any engagement to follow would be of a long duration, should it meet the lady's approval."

The judges exchanged glances.

Larsa continued. "Surely you must appreciate that I am doing my level best to ensure that all proceedings regarding this possible union are being conducted with propriety and moderation? Surely you and the Senate cannot find anything to censure in this rather reasonable proposal?"

At length, Rjth cleared her throat. "If a youthful alliance is to be made, the direct measures Larsa has proposed would curtail censure of his faculties."

"Undoubtedly, Rjth," Gabranth agreed. "The proposal has merit. Quick marriages denote immaturity and impulsiveness. And while it is true that the Senate does wish for you to marry, they undoubtedly would prefer that your courtship be conducted as cautiously and properly as possible."

"You demonstrate admirable maturity with this petition, Larsa," Rjth mused.

"You needn't sound so surprised." Larsa lamented the querulous tone his voice took. But his judge magisters had known him for so long, it was difficult to maintain his mantle of dignity and maturity before them. "I have never deliberately set out to irritate you or my Senate with my requests or proposals."

"And we have never suspected you of doing so," Gabranth smoothed over. "Rjth is expressing her approval."

Larsa's clenched jaw loosened. "Perhaps I was a bit defensive. I am sorry, Rjth."

"It is understandable," Rjth accepted the apology with a nod.

"Kilbourne, what say you?" Gabranth turned to the silent judge magister. "You observed the two, so you're best qualified to counsel."

Kilbourne looked to Larsa. The young man gazed back at him, but gave no indication that he expected anything out of Kilbourne but his honest opinion. Kilbourne mulled over the discussion, his observations, as well as his own thoughts. And because Larsa was willing to receive his honest opinion, Kilbourne delivered it: "While the decision to court is sudden, Larsa presents a prudent proposal. The lady in question would be an undisputedly appropriate match for our emperor. She is well-spoken and well-informed. She completed her hasty but thorough education at Tattles Ladies' Academy two years ago, was given a minor title, and has since served as lady-in-waiting to Ashelia. It is rumored that she is one of the queen's most trusted confidants and advisors. While Penelo Everling is of humble birth, she has a much lauded reputation now. I believe, pending Parliamentary approval, she is to be granted a viscounty in East Loxley. Lady Penelo is twenty-two years old, an age very suitable for marriage. I would assume that upon her ascension, she'll receive a number of proposals. I don't think I need to convince those present that she is a woman of sterling character. And," he added, returning to Gabranth's original question, "she and Larsa appear to get along very well. I believe that the interest Larsa expresses is reciprocated."

He didn't say anything else, so Larsa sat up straighter. "So...it is agreed?" Larsa asked, tentatively. "You will support me?"

"Did you prepare more speeches that you'd like to practice on us?" Gabranth asked amusedly. "We may have been caught off guard at first, but we do try very hard to be reasonable."

Larsa cleared his throat. "Of course."

"However," Rjth began.

"The abhorred 'however'." Larsa tried to address her with seriousness, but could not prevent his silly grin. No amount of 'however's were going to compromise his relief at this moment. "Yes, Rjth, do you have an objection?"

"Not an objection, but perhaps, an item for consideration. You are going to take away Ashelia's lady-in-waiting."

"Yes."

"Lady Penelo was the queen's most trusted companion, who also served as bodyguard," Gabranth observed.

"Which means it is only fair that I present to her one of _my_ most trusted advisors," Larsa replied easily.

And from the way Larsa was speaking, Kilbourne was afraid he knew exactly where this was going. Solidor had, indeed, planned thoroughly and completely. It was frightening how clever the child had become. "People cannot be traded like commodities," Kilbourne began his protest.

"But His Excellency does have a point. The sudden removal of the Queen's right hand woman is not meant to undermine her, nor attenuate her defenses, and cannot be viewed as thus. Archadia should make compensation to show that we also value the Dalmascan queen's safety and wellbeing," Gabranth reasoned.

"Kilbourne," Larsa said.

Kilbourne turned to the emperor, lips pressed, jaw tight. Eyes alight with challenge. "Yes, my liege?"

"I believe you must go to Dalmasca, and serve as interim bodyguard and advisor to Her Majesty Ashelia until such a time as she finds a new lady-in-waiting she can trust as well as she did Lady Penelo."

"I doubt the efficacy of this placement. She may not agree with my opinions."

"I don't always agree with them either," Larsa replied smoothly. "She's already met you, and knows how much I value your insight and loyalty."

"Perhaps the counsel of a woman would be more appropriate. And if a judge magister's presence is preferred, we may consider sending Rjth as emissary," Kilbourne proposed.

Gabranth scoffed.

"Personal reasons aside, Rjth's presence here is critical at this time, with the delegation from the Viera arriving in a matter of weeks. A visit that _you_ helped plan, Kilbourne," Larsa observed.

Kilbourne sighed. "Yes, of course." A glance at Gabranth told him not to even bother suggesting separating the married couple again.

"I must send the best person I can to protect and counsel Ashe, and that is you, Kilbourne. I am not going to order for you to do this, because I don't think I need to; you already understand how important it is for us to make this gesture."

Kilbourne turned to his fellow judge magisters for alternatives, but it appeared they were offering none. The young emperor had cornered him.

"Will you go to her?" Larsa asked.

* * *

"I admit that when I came to Rabanastre, I did _not_ intend to propose. The prospect of a loveless match leaves much to be desired, doesn't it? However, when I took one look at you..." Jareth Kinsey smiled at her.

Ashe looked up from her tea cup, eyes warm with receptiveness.

Jareth grinned, chanced to glance over her shoulder, and then self-consciously sat up, clearing his throat.

Ashe turned to see what made him frown. She shook her head as she turned back to the enthusiastic suitor. "Pray, continue. Do not mind Kilbourne."

The judge magister remained in the exact same place, in the exact same position that he'd taken after he'd entered an hour earlier.

Jareth cleared his throat. "Our chaperone is a bit...intimidating."

"He does not have Penelo's sweet and unassuming countenance, does he?" she remarked with a hint of amusement in her voice.

Jareth looked hesitant to share her smile, almost afraid of being killed on the spot if he laughed.

She moved to placate her guest into continuing, but was interrupted by Rawlings's arrival. "Yes?"

"I was informed to remind you that you have plans to meet with the wedding committee in a quarter hour."

Ashe turned back to Jareth with an apologetic smile. "My apologies, Kinsey, but I must prepare for my meeting."

Jareth didn't even try to hide his disappointment. Ashe's vanity relished in the reaction.

"Might we go for a ride tomorrow?" Jareth suggested. "Into Giza."

Ashe looked to Kilbourne, who shook his head.

"I am very sorry, but I have engaged myself elsewhere tomorrow."

"The day after, then? I am afraid that after that, I will no longer be in Rabanastre, but back home at Fairshore."

Ashe turned to the judge magister, a pleading look on her face. After a moment, Kilbourne nodded with a succinct "I believe your schedule is clear in the morning."

She turned back to Jareth with a smile. "The morning of the day after should do very well for me. Shall we say eight?"

Jareth stood. "I am delighted to hear it. I look forward to eight o'clock the day after tomorrow."

Ashe smiled back as she also stood.

Jareth took leave with a gentlemanly bow and an enthusiastic kiss to her hand. He couldn't resist an annoyed double take at the judge magister on his way out of the gardens. Kilbourne left the young man's action unacknowledged.

Ashe sighed after she was sure that her suitor had left the vicinity. "Oh, Kilbourne."

The judge magister did not move any closer to her, but angled his body so that it faced her, signaling that he was listening.

"I do not think this will work at all. My suitors cannot be spending every moment frightened of you."

"My manners are not meant to intimidate."

"But, perhaps if you didn't look so stern..."

"So you _wanted_ Kinsey to continue in his speech?" The surprise in his voice was the first indication that the man had any sort of thoughts or opinions.

"That's my business," Ashe bristled.

Kilbourne stood silent.

"No, I didn't. Not really. But what if I had? You're more effective than a tall turret guarded by a dragon," Ashe sighed. "Maybe you could...wear something else? Take off your helmet, at the very least?"

"Regardless of whose court I currently am serving, I am a judge magister of Archadia, and will observe the duties that I swore to," Kilbourne stated sternly, sounding almost insulted by Ashe's request.

Ashe's eyes flashed with rebellion. "I understand your loyalty to your homeland, but I simply wondered if you'd consider making a concession for the cultural difference. I now understand you, and I won't ask it of you again," she said stiffly.

She moved to the edge of the balcony. Kilbourne moved to stand by her. She turned to him, expecting him to say something. However, she realized that he'd done it to shield her from a possible attack from the south.

The man took his duties _very_ seriously.

"Do you want to say anything?" she asked tiredly.

"I will provide counsel when you wish; I understand that this situation is not...ideal."

Ashe sighed. "I do not resent you, Kilbourne."

The man let her very difficult admission go unaddressed.

"So?" Ashe asked. "I can sense it; you have a question. By all means, ask."

"If you did not wish for him to continue, why did you agree to see him again?"

Ashe considered his question carefully. "Because I have not yet concluded that we do not suit."

And because Kilbourne did not say anything in reply, she continued. "Kilbourne, my suitors, all of them, have prepared flowery speeches. It is the customary, polite behavior, and expected in courtship. If I eliminated every suitor for using false words and false promises, then I would have none left."

And when he still didn't reply, she sighed. "If you are to be an effective substitute for Penelo, I need for you to listen _and_ advise. I know my reaction before was peevish, and for that I apologize.

"I don't know how enthusiastic you were to come to my court, so I understand that this situation may not be ideal for you either. But I am optimistic that we will accomplish many things together. But to achieve that, Kilbourne, I need for you to feel as comfortable counseling me as you do with Larsa. We both of us have to make adjustments."

She let out an exhale of relief when she heard Kilbourne's tired sigh. "I will endeavor to provide the advice and support you seek."

"Thank you," Ashe said. "I suppose we must walk over to the ballroom now to meet with the wedding committee. Has word gotten back on my appeal to change the deadline from 'marriage' to 'engagement'?"

Kilbourne opened the balcony doors and stood aside to let her precede him. "We've not been officially told, but there are tentative reports that your appeal will be denied."

Ashe shook her head in annoyed incredulity. "My first wedding took two years to plan. We have two months. I am planning my wedding even as I am choosing my groom. How is this to be done?"

Kilbourne hesitated, then replied. "I suppose it's to be done...quickly."

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you for reading!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters or FFXII.

**A Suitor for Ashe**

**Chapter Six**

_ 'The Queen's Archadian Bulldog' did not strive to fit in at court, and did not work to put guests and courtiers at ease. He was every moment watching, assessing, judging. And, to the chagrin of many suitors, staunchly refused to leave the Queen's side._

_Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia_

* * *

"...you have seen them, have you not?"

Ashe shook her head, taking another sip of her cold coffee. "Neither my duties nor pleasures have taken me to that corner of Rozarria."

The fire had died some time ago, which was not unintentional; while Donato Sarlene was her dinner date for the evening, she still had a few documents to look over before retiring, and had not wanted for her guest to feel too welcome.

Ashe had tried to be as polite as she could, which was likely how she was in her predicament. A small glance to Kilbourne revealed nothing, not even the passage of time; he could have been a suit of armor in decoration, for all she knew.

"It's a travesty, your highness," Donato continued, "because the Northern Lamps are beyond anything one could ever possibly imagine. They are a gift from the Gods."

Ashe kept her own remarks on Gods and their whims to herself. She'd seen enough of them to know she did not trust any "gift" from such tyrannical beings.

"...and when the light hits the water of the ocean, it is as if the world simply inhaled and held her breath for that moment of beauty. No one can speak, no one can think, no one can dream; the beauty is simply that consuming!"

Ashe hoped her sigh of sadness was interpreted as envy or reverence. Her innocent appreciation for such sights had abandoned her some time ago--when? When her husband had died? Or perhaps when she'd stood in front of the terrifyingly mad beauty of the Sun Cryst? She shook her head, trying for a rueful smile. "I wish to see it some day."

"My lady! Only say the word and I can take you there!"

Ashe smiled politely as she uttered her empty vague reply: "Perhaps."

"Luz Rosa awaits you. When you visit, we shall picnic by El Rio Diablo. Don't let the name intimidate; he is a mighty beast when he runs by Granada, but is merely a harmless toddler where he runs by my estate..."

She turned to Kilbourne again, wondering if he'd fallen asleep in his place. Likely not, but the idea had comedic merit. If he had fallen asleep, she would have taken the time to hang many flower garlands on his armor; undoubtedly he'd look quite fetching and harmless with daisy chains. Ashe found herself smiling. And wondered when she last smiled without thinking about it.

"So will you come?"

Vague replies were not an option, and though she knew she wanted to say no, it just felt incredibly uncharitable and rude. Ashe mentally telegraphed her need for assistance to the judge magister. She feared it wouldn't be enough; he'd let her other signals of boredom thus far pass unaddressed.

She could have hugged him when she heard him clear his throat. _Imagine, hugging a judge magister!? It'd undoubtedly feel cold and awkward._ "Your highness, I believe you asked me to remind you of your late night meeting with your Chief Counsel. It is for nine."

The arrival of the hour was announced by the long, deep tolls of the grandfather clock; it was as if the time had been summoned by the judge magister himself.

Ashe maintained a look of composure as she swept up from her seat and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. She strove for a contrite smile. "It appears that our time has been cut short, Sarlene."

Sarlene opened his mouth to reply, but Kilbourne would brook no further delay. "I was told that Ragsdale had to leave for business later tonight, and so should not be kept from his departure any longer than he needs to."

"We will talk again, Sarlene. I must not inconvenience my advisor for much longer."

Not left with any options, Sarlene made a short bow and left, sure that the only way to stay in the lady's good graces at this point was to leave her, though he was also helpless with wondering if and when he'd see her again.

Ashe set aside her coffee cup and made to stand. "How long do we have before Ragsdale leaves?"

"Ragsdale is already gone, my lady," Kilbourne replied placidly.

Ashe sank back into her seat and lifted an amused brow. "Kilbourne, did you, perchance...lie?"

"I was given the impression that you wanted to be spared the unpleasantness of rejecting Sarlene. If I was incorrect in my assumptions, I apologize."

"Kilbourne, it was a _joke_," Ashe smiled tiredly, leaning her head back against the couch cushion. A portrait of Raithwall's coronation spanned the ceiling. The festive colors were fading; she'd have to make sure that the artwork was repaired with care.

Kilbourne still hadn't replied, so she continued. "Your interruption was very welcome. In fact, I had hoped that it would have come sooner." If she had been with Penelo, she would have elaborated on how she would have appreciated the additional time to herself. Or, perhaps, if she had been with Penelo, the young woman would have already known.

Still, Kilbourne demonstrated his own special brand of perceptiveness: "You may have enjoyed more time to yourself, but you would have given up a measure of time to Sarlene tomorrow out of guilt. Now, you are sure that you will not marry that man, and will no longer tarry with him."

Ashe's mouth dropped open, and she sat up in her seat, staring at the judge magister. She put a hand to her cheek, leaning against an armrest, smiled, and then started laughing. He wasn't Penelo, but he seemed to be quite useful just the way he was.

* * *

_Dearest Ashe,_

_It's absolutely amazing how much Archadia has changed since we've last been here. I do believe that 'upstarts' are starting to infiltrate that upper echelon of Archadian society, chops or no chops. Commerce and society are alive here, and it's all because of Larsa and his reign. He's such a good ruler; you can tell! Everywhere people sing songs of praise and adoration for their young emperor._

_I've seen Basch. He's doing very well. He's healthy, and wouldn't you know it, the man is married?! It makes me (very, very) upset to think that both he and Larsa have not told us, but I suppose we shouldn't be surprised--Basch is so private! They had a very small ceremony a year ago. It's actually a little known fact that 'Gabranth' and Larsa's Viera judge magister Rjth are married, even to your typical Archadian citizen. Rjth is extremely busy with a delegation from the Viera these two weeks, so I have not yet had the chance to become acquainted with her yet. But really? Basch with a Viera?! Who would have thought?! I say good for him._

_Marriage suits him. He's so at peace, so jovial, I don't think you'd even recognize him! It is clear that his hard work is being recognized and appreciated here, and he and Larsa are very close. He has lost some of the proper and formal crust he'd previously worn so defensively before, and takes great delight in teasing Larsa. Larsa takes Basch's jokes good-naturedly with a hearty laugh._

_Apparently, there is no need for Basch to adhere to structure and rules, as I understand that Kilbourne has seized that role with fervor. Perhaps it is just as well that I am here while he is not. I fear that I would not pass muster with the critical judge._

_It is hard to pause from my wandering and awe to concentrate on painting at all, but I hope that one day the novelty will wear off. Until then, Larsa has been more than generous with his time and I am enjoying every minute; he has personally escorted me around the castle and grounds, and we have tea together every day._

_How go the affairs in Dalmasca? Has Kinsey grown in your esteem? What of Margrace? I want to read about everything, so don't you dare leave a single detail out. I wish I was there to assist you in your decisions; the only difficulty I have encountered since my arrival is that I am separated from you. I hope that Kilbourne is giving you suitable companionship and advice in my absence. Should you require my services, please do not hesitate to send word. --Yours, & c.,_

_Penelo Everling_

* * *

The gauze of her bodice had caught on her jeweled belt clasp. It made an uncomfortable pinch at her waist, and pulled at her left shoulder. Her wide neckline was asymmetric. She wondered if everybody noticed. If nobody noticed at all. Perhaps they thought she ventured to make a new fashion statement.

Perhaps, if it'd been the first night, she'd have not even noticed. Perhaps, if she'd been in a better mood, she would have taken it all in stride. However, Ashe was completely...saturated. She'd shared one meal too satisfying, one tte- tte too intimate, one stroll too romantic, one waltz too sweet.

She forced herself to smile graciously to Kinsey as she uttered a polite but firm refusal to dance. She struggled to force courtesy into her words; it was not her suitor's fault that she tired of all things related to courtship. He was not to be distanced now, because the truth of the matter was, if she was in more generous and gregarious spirits, she would have delighted in his attentions.

She itched to unsnag the fabric from the metal hook, but it was at an angle frustratingly out of reach. She took this annoyance with both relief and extreme exasperation. The focus of her past two weeks' frustration had shifted from herself to her discomfort, which was lovely. However, if she was to put up with this for another month and a half, well, the least she could expect was that she was dressed comfortably for the damned ordeal.

Ashe sighed.

"If you are weary of balls, perhaps it would be both prudent and economical to refrain from throwing and attending them," Kilbourne stated, voice low so that only she could hear.

Ashe lifted a hand to her shoulder, and pulled lightly at the collar of her gown. Still snagged. "Perhaps. I suppose these large assemblies have served their purpose; I have, in my mind, a shortlist. But when I recollect what additional work is necessary to select from the _shortlist_, I feel even more tired."

"Mayhap my lady needs a small respite."

"Maybe. I am tired, Kilbourne. I am tired of _trying_."

"Your majesty does not look it; you look very fine this evening," Kilbourne observed.

Ashe grinned as she turned at the judge magister's gallant remark. Discomfort was temporarily forgotten. "Thank you, Kilbourne. You look...shiny."

She thought she heard the judge magister give a small punctuated breath of a laugh. It made her smile feel more genuine. "I wish to dance, Kilbourne."

"You wish to dance. Why did you not accept Kinsey or Margrace when they asked?"

"I didn't want to dance _then_, and I have no wish to dance with them. If I dance with them each of them will feel obliged to make polite conversation. I don't need to quit the evening so soon; I just need a short recess. I wish to dance for the sake of dancing, for the sake of doing something that is both acceptable and effective at keeping others at bay."

"And...you wish for me to dance with you."

Ashe turned to him with a smile. "Right again, my perceptive protector."

"I do not think that would be wise."

"Come now, you can keep watch over my shoulder and I'll keep watch over yours. While I know I certainly do not have the qualifications you do, I assure you that I am selfish enough to want to stay alive and will look out for myself with admirable vigilence."

Kilbourne was spared the task of replying when they heard her name called. "Ashe!"

At the first sound of her name, she bristled. She plastered a polite smile on her face as she turned towards the direction of her approaching interloper. Kilbourne stepped close behind her. Her annoyance of the situation was mitigated when she felt her belt unclasp and reclasp quickly. Her dress once again rested on her frame the way it was meant to. Ashe couldn't help a small smile.

And once she set eyes on their new guest, her tiredness disappeared completely. Her shoulders unknotted themselves, and her mouth relaxed into an even wider grin. The tall handsome young man was dressed in rich embroidered fabrics of vibrant colors. He stepped confidently towards the queen, took his floppy hat off his moppy blonde curls with a sweeping rakish gesture, and gave a confident bow. The queen's hand was seized up in rough ones; it was given an exuberant kiss. Everything the man said and did conveyed he was sure of his welcome. "Ashe!" he repeated, cheerfully.

"Vaan!" Ashe pulled her hand and the man closer to kiss him on the cheek. "How did you leave my uncle? And what of Bhujerba?" "Ondore is well. He wishes he could have also come, but is tied up with his own affairs. Bhujerba's tourism flourishes with the construction of the new museum dedicated to nethicite."

He made a concerted effort to sound cultured and intelligent. Nothing could truly tame the young man into decorum, but it was sweet that he tried, for the sake of their friendship. "And how did you leave the excavation?" Ashe asked with a knowing smile.

On the topic of the excavation, the aspiring archeologist could not contain his excitement: "The excavation is a huuuuge time--er, that is, it continues to consume my waking hours completely, but it is awe--that is, extremely gratifying work."

"Kilbourne, you may already be acquainted with my dear friend Vaan O'Neal." "How could I forget? I was told you'd be here," Vaan said, coming forward to grab the judge's gloved hand, giving it a hearty shake.

Ashe stifled her gasp of amusement. She was sure the judge was unaccustomed to Vaan's unaffected exuberance. She also wondered what he knew of Vaan's background, and if he approved.

She didn't care if he did or didn't, of course. Vaan was a friend.

Kilbourne took the young man's greeting in stride. "O'Neal. I should have expected you here," he said neutrally.

"I look for the good parties." Vaan preempted the judge's scrutiny with a laugh and a shrug. "I think your bulldog thinks me a prospective suitor, Ashe. You have no worries on that score," the young man grinned. "I am here to give my two gils' worth of advice. So, Ashe!" he turned back to the queen, clapping his hands together. "Who's it going to be?"

* * *

The room was dark and silent, but Vaan wasn't fooled for a minute.

He was expected, after all. He shut the door behind him quietly and moved into the room, eyes scanning the darkness. Finding a candle, he conjured a small flame to light it.

"You took quite a risk, coming here..."

"I could say the same for you," the young man replied.

Kilbourne sat in the overstuffed armchair by the unlit fireplace. Vaan took his light with him and seated himself in the chair's twin, a few feet away. He reached into his cloak to withdraw a bottle of wine with a grin.

Kilbourne examined the label, gave a low whistle of appreciation, and moved to the sideboard to grab two glasses. "I see the effects of your education, and I am impressed. How much did you fetch this for?"

"Three hundred, at Nalbina." Vaan grinned. Returning to the original topic, he shook his head. "I thought the plan had been to remain above suspicion and out of notice."

"Plans change. What are you doing here?"

Vaan watched the older man open the bottle, take the cork to his nose with an epicurean sniff. At the judge magister's grunt of approval, Vaan drummed his dancing fingers against the armrest with a miniature tapdance of victory. "Oh, I had to come. The minute Larsa told me about it, I knew I had to see for it for myself."

"So you've seen them?" Kilbourne asked, extending a glass to Vaan.

"I was there only earlier today." Vaan swirled the burgundy liquid around in his glass, watching the thick viscous liquid cling to the walls of the crystal-clear bulb. A deep inhale confirmed what he knew when he'd purchased the bottle; the wine was of superior quality.

"And how is everybody?"

"Pretty well."

Vaan offered his glass up, which Kilbroune acknowledged with a salute of his own.

After a moment of silence to drink the wine, enjoy the wine, and let the wine settle on the tastebuds, Kilbourne continued the conversation. "And has Penelo met Rjth yet?"

"No, not yet. But I suspect it's only a matter of time. She is there for an entire year...have you figured out just how this was going to go down?"

Kilbourne sighed, ignoring the question. "And Larsa?"

"Disgustingly lovestruck."

"Of course," Kilbourne muttered as he took another sip.

Vaan examined the shadows of the tapestry on the wall. "And how go things here?"

"Dull."

"And Ashe's suitors?"

"Duller."

Vaan raised an eyebrow.

Kilbourne sighed. "They are all of them suitable, and everything a queen should want in a regent. She has many options, but has shown no predilection for any."

"And has she asked your opinion?"

"Yes, and I have given it to her."

"Which match do you think the most suitable?"

"She carries on well with Margrace."

"Margrace? I thought you hated that guy's guts."

"My own views on Ashe's prospective suitors are not relevant. And we both know what a strategic alliance their union would be. Ashe's matrimonial match must be viewed as advantageous for both sides, as well as indisputably suitable."

Vaan frowned. After another sip, he cleared his throat. "You know...you could be suitable too..."

"Only if I gave up certain...interests..."

Vaan sighed. "And...?"

"And what would become of you?"

It was a question Vaan didn't want to answer, because he knew the answer: Vaan would be fine. More than fine.

It was what would become of his silent partner that was the true issue.

Still, he owed a lot to his mentor: his ship, his start. Kilbourne wasn't ready to let go.

As much as it annoyed him, Vaan willed himself to continue the charade. "Of course. How foolish of me. Shall I tell you what I found in Perfayth?"

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy XII or its characters.

**A Suitor for Ashe**

**Chapter Seven**

_Not all men are created equal, and indeed, certain suitors exhibited a greater aptitude for wooing than others. No suitors were more appropriate, more courteous, more persistent than Jareth Kinsey, the earnest, elegant, eloquent Count of Phon, and Al-Cid Margrace, the charismatic, clever monarch of Rozarria._

_With a mere month and half left in her Husband Hunt, Ashelia made her predilection for these two particularly perfect specimens known, and the next challenge was presented._

_Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia _

* * *

"Stop pacing, Kilbourne! You're making me nervous!" Ashe laughed. "Please, sit," she extended her arm to gesture towards the cushioned seat across the compartment from hers.

Kilbourne turned to Ashe. "Is that an order?"

"Does it need to be?" Ashe asked, a hint of steel in her voice.

Kilbourne reluctantly took the bench opposite hers. Ashe lifted her papers to block her smile. She would have argued the man was claustrophobic, were he not confined in his suit of armor for the fourteen hours a day she saw him.

Still, restlessness radiated off him. He'd been dead set against the plan from the start. And, when she thought about the situation from his perspective, she could see why; he was traveling far, far away from Archadia now. Phon Coast was a favorite stop of hunters and tourists alike. The parade planned in Rozarria was a security and logistics nightmare. His job was made considerably more difficult.

"I appreciate your concern, Kilbourne."

Kilbourne turned from the doorway back to her. "Pardon?"

"For my safety. But I've traveled before."

Kilbourne shook his head. "It's--you will be safe," he asserted.

"Oh. It's not my safety," Ashe said, setting aside her papers, straightening up in her seat. "Then, pray, what is it?"

Kilbourne remained silent. Ashe kept her eyes fixed on him, determined to wait until he relinquished. "I rarely ride as...passenger in airships," he explained tersely.

Surprised, Ashe leaned forward. "You fly them? You were a pilot, then?"

"I am. Still am," he asserted defensively.

"I assure you, we are in good hands. I know no man who maneuvers the _Strahl_ like Vaan does," she asserted, placing a hand on Kilbourne's gauntlet. "No man alive," she added quietly, to herself.

She shouldn't have been surprised; the man obviously liked to maintain control, and yielding his safety and that of his charge was likely something he almost never did.

He withdrew from her touch, and turned to look out the window, muttering quietly to himself. She deciphered the word "orange" among the grumblings.

Perhaps he thought Vaan's airship a bit flamboyantly decorated? Perhaps the flames had been bit much, however carefully and artistically they'd been painted on. Maybe the craft was a bit...unorthodox in appearance. But, well, she loved it, in any incarnation.

Ashe ran a fond hand over the cushion behind her. She had many pleasant memories in this ship. Laughs, games, jokes. Sorrow touched her lips as she recalled the one memory that had completely destroyed her, brought her down to her knees. The one that had scraped her throat raw, as she'd called his name, over and over, somehow thinking he'd hear her and come back...

"You could sit up in the front with Vaan," she ventured softly, suddenly feeling too crowded in this private compartment.

"I have no wish to leave you," Kilbourne replied quickly, settling back into his seat. She could feel his determination to accept the situation. At length, she felt the tension dissipate.

"So...when you and Larsa fly...you pilot?" Ashe asked.

"Of course," he replied, as if there was no question of the suitability of his position, or his proficiency.

"Of course," she replied wryly.

"What?" he asked, suspicious.

"What?" she replied, expression all innocence.

"You mock me."

"I do not mock you."

"You smile."

"I always smile, Kilbourne," Ashe grinned.

The judge magister remained silent.

"I'm sure Larsa's already told you that you need to relax?" Ashe said, sweetly.

"I do. I do relax," he replied sternly.

Ashe grinned. "I just can't tell because you've got your helmet on?"

And because he didn't reply, she leaned forward. "Sometimes," Ashe ventured softly. "Sometimes, you can't do it all on your own. Sometimes you need friends to help you, advise you, guide you." _Steal you away. Force yourself to move on when you're not sure you can. Hold your hand when you stumble. Tell you the truth when you don't want to hear it._

Ashe blinked away the hot, rising tears. Strange, how emotional she felt today. She'd ridden in the _Strahl_ dozens of times before. What made this voyage any different?

When she was sure of her steadied breathing, she dared a small peek at the man across the compartment. He was watching the passing clouds.

She ached to have him acknowledge her pain. Someone, anyone. She missed Penelo.

Ashe closed her eyes. Took a breath.

"Acknowledged," he said gruffly, at length.

And just like that, the weight in her lifted, and she opened her eyes. He likely didn't know what even happened. She certainly didn't understand it. But she felt comfort. He was still turned towards the window, so she was sure he wasn't watching her. He didn't touch her. But some of that sorrow and loneliness left her.

* * *

"...and we'll be joined for today's appointments by Rjth," Larsa observed, looking up from his scrambled eggs.

"Rjth?!" Penelo grinned in surprise, letting her knife and fork fall in a clatter on her plate.

"Quite a reaction," Larsa observed, wryly. It had been one that he'd anticipated; after lengthy discussion with Gabranth and Rjth, it was decided that the moment of the women's meeting could not be put off any longer. The Viera delegation had left the day before, and Penelo would suspect something if Rjth did not return to her duties, and, of course, become available to meet Larsa's Very Important Guest.

"I was starting to think that you and Gabranth don't want for us to meet. Does she know _that_ many embarrassing stories?"

"Tragically, nothing of the sort. I have simply been busy."

The voice sounded familiar. Penelo's heart stung a little when she reminded herself that it was mere coincidence that the judge magister's voice sounded like that of her fallen comrade. Penelo pushed her chair back to stand, brushing wrinkles away from her skirt. She'd known Fran so very well; comparisons, especially now, likely were inescapable.

The entrant of their conversation stood at the door next to her husband. The Viera exuded an air of elegance quite unknown to either Kilbourne or Gabranth, elegance that only a _woman_ with complete comprehension of her own abilities and charms could possess. Her tall ears poked out of her helmet, the only uncovered part of her; she wore her heritage openly. Penelo admired her for it.

"Penelo, I'd like for you to meet Rjth," Gabranth proudly introduced, stepping forward, guiding his wife by an arm at her waist.

Penelo grinned as she stepped forward to take the offered gloved hand. "It's wonderful to finally meet you, Your Honor."

"A pleasure, my Lady Everling."

"Pray, we interrupted breakfast. Please continue eating," Gabranth put a hand to Penelo's elbow and guided her towards the table.

Penelo reseated herself, taking the moment to assess her reactions. Meeting Rjth was quite startling. She was the most relaxed Viera Penelo had ever met. While her diction and speech reflected the formal brevity of her race, her voice possessed a musical note of friendliness, quite unprecedented in one of her kind.

The effect marriage to a human, perhaps?

The judge magisters took seats at the circular table, Rjth at her right, Gabranth at her left. Penelo opened her mouth to suggest breakfast; as if reading her mind, Larsa interceded. "Gabranth and Rjth dine in their private quarters."

"Oh," Penelo said. Larsa took a big gulp of his cooling coffee, so Penelo returned her attention to her eggs. "I have heard much of you!" Penelo began conversationally, to Rjth. "That is, both Gabranth and Larsa are old friends of mine..."

"Of course," Rjth replied knowingly.

Penelo wondered if Rjth had heard the whole story before, was aware that they'd all known and befriended another strong Viera woman. And if the Viera of the Wood talked of the fallen heroine with the respect she deserved. Had Rjth known Fran, back before? Saving the topic for another, more appropriate time, Penelo kept to niceties. "I hope your visit with the delegation went well; they must have been a bit nervous, being so far from the Wood."

"It was a maiden outing for many of them, but they were able to make adjustments and acclimate."

"Do you think that more Viera will venture out, now that they are more aware of how life is outside of the Wood?"

Rjth contemplated the question. "I believe they will, but not immediately. However, it is clear to them now that they can no longer drown out the worries of the world by hiding, and they are coming to understand that they hold a role of responsibility in the global community."

"Well, that's optimistic. And I hope they agreed to send a member to the Council?" Penelo asked.

"The Council?" Larsa turned to Penelo, surprised at her knowledge.

"That is what this visit was for, was it not?" Penelo replied smoothly, even as her pale cheek colored from Larsa's admiring attention. She hid her pleased smile in a sip of orange juice. "One of the younger Viera got lost in the kitchen the other day," she began in explanation. "We spoke for a bit while I brought her back to the rest of her party."

Larsa grinned, clearly impressed at her for wheedling information out of the wariest race of Ivalice.

"They agreed," Rjth replied.

Penelo smiled. "What a wonderful development! While their interests in international trade may be currently underdeveloped, it is good for them to want to be aware of what is going on in the world. Have they decided whom to choose as delegate?"

"They will have their own meetings soon to decide, I am sure, once they are back in the Wood," Gabranth hypothesized.

"It could be difficult. The duties the representative would have to the Council will undoubtedly be quite demanding, and likely be daunting to one who's always enjoyed a rather sheltered life," Penelo said quietly. "But," she continued, remembering Fran again, "I hope that the ones who have gone before them will give inspiration."

"It is hoped, but my lady is right; the Viera are very comfortable in the Wood," Rjth agreed. "The Wood cares for them."

"As would Ivalice, if given the chance, do you not agree?" Penelo replied lightly, pinning Gabranth with a look. "I suppose we have proof before us that, given the opportunity, Viera can be _quite_ cared for," she observed with a teasing grin as she finished off her eggs.

Larsa laughed as Gabranth cleared his throat in embarrassment. Rjth exhaled a quiet, amused chuckle.

"Forgive my presumptuous manner," Penelo said, apology only half-sincere, reaching over to take Rjth's hand again. "It is a flaw of mine, which I will have to ask you to accept without question or judgment," she laughed, taking her last sip of orange juice. On a more serious, earnest note, she continued. "You know two of the most important men in my life. I hope, Rjth, that we may become good friends."

At length, the Viera replied graciously. "I believe we already are."

* * *

"...just a few more steps." Jareth held her hand with the care usually given to a delicate butterfly's wing. Ashe smiled at him, though her patience with accepting such patronizing treatment was coming to an end.

And she'd been here for less than twenty-four hours.

"I know it's high, but the view is worth it," Jareth asserted.

There'd been a time when she had rushed up stairs like these without drawing a tired sigh or ache. It was startling, her glutes informed her, what effects relative inactivity had on her. However, her impatience with Jareth's china-doll treatment of her person had her keeping her fatigue to herself as she continued to trudge up the winding stairs with unchanging, unflagging rhythm.

Kilbourne had ventured up ahead of them, and her other bodyguard, Pol, followed four steps back. She would have preferred being escorted up the stairs under their attentions, rather than this obsequious coddling.

Unpleasant as it might be, Ashe focused on this annoyance. It was easier to understand and address. More so than the heavy, overwhelming feelings that came over her when she smelled the sea in the air, heard the gulls cry above.

"Ah, here we are. This, my lady, is my favorite spot in the entirety of my holdings," Jareth said proudly, stepping forward, taking both her hands to guide her across the cobblestone floor. He stretched his arm out over the thick stone waist-high wall. "Is the view not spectacular?"

Ashe held her breath as she looked over the edge, and felt her heart plummet to her stomach in disappointment and relief when she saw that the view he referred to was not, as she'd feared, of the long stretch of beach and sea, but rather, of his estate.

It shouldn't have been a surprise: Jareth was quite proud of Fairshore. The tours of the house, the various gardens, and the stables, they'd all been quite pleasant and thorough; Fairshore was lovely and well-managed. The view was impressive; the large manor looked as if it had been carved from the cliffs. Right now, in the changing light of the fading day, the place looked enchanted, layered in a combination of muffled and sharp colors, muffled and sharp textures. She could hear the sea behind her, curling up the sand with the rising moon.

"Ashelia," Jareth stroked the hands in his, "I wanted you to see Fairshore from here, my favorite place, looking out over the land that my ancestors loved, that I love, and that I know you will love. I wanted you to be here. I wanted to see you here, admiring it with me."

Ashe felt heat on her cheeks. Did this have to be so...public? Irrationally, she was desperate to glance in Kilbourne's direction, but kept her gaze fixed on Jareth's sparkling green eyes.

Jareth raised a hand and kissed it. "Ashelia, I have fallen in love with you. I love your smile, I love the way your eyes speak _truth_ to me, always. I want to take care of you, shoulder your burdens, and lend you my strength when you don't have any left. I know you were expecting this, but I wanted to do it in a place that meant something to me, in a place that I hope will mean something to you too. I know you cannot answer right away, and I don't expect for you to, but I would like for you to consider becoming my life, my wife."

* * *

Ashe stared out over the large expanse of sea, eyes stinging in the bright reflection of the sun on the water, ears roaring with the undulating arrival and departure of waves on the sandy shore.

They'd ventured out to the hunter's camp today, and, if she were honest with herself, though she felt sadness here, she understood that this dreaded moment had been fated; she'd been moving towards it from the second they'd announced the husband hunt.

She couldn't help but let that steady unremitting churn of the ocean carry her memory back in time.

The wind had been colder that day, the air drier. The beach had smelt of that odoriferously odious Seeq delicacy, dried spicy Malboro jerky. Though the hour had been later, the sun had been higher; it'd been earlier in the summer.

She'd felt hot, tired, and sweaty. Her sword arm had been sore from exertion, her throat dry, heavy and hoarse from the perpetual incantation of healing spells.

She'd been confused and not a little depressed.

A steady march towards what felt like certain death, a march that was made in spite of fear. Country and citizens; she'd been prepared to do anything and everything she could think of to regain her crown. It had been the sole focus of her existence.

Until that day five years ago.

Just as his sharp woodsy cologne had penetrated the putrid stench of the jerky, He had worked through the mantle of responsibility and duty, and touched her hand and heart.

It was on that day that she'd been first aware, physically aware of a man aside from Rasler. It'd been on that day that she'd been first aware, emotionally aware, of another, seeing into his soul so deeply that she thought her heart would simply fizzle out in the sheer intensity of the moment.

It was the day she'd first realized that she could, indeed, fall in love again.

Perhaps it was only appropriate that, a month and a half before another chapter of her life, she stood here now.

A time of more change.

She'd gotten her first official proposal of marriage since her husband's death yesterday. It was a touching proposal, constructed of words that moved her, even if she knew they weren't entirely true.

She shook her head in remonstrance. When had she become such a cynic?

_You can't fall in love during something like this, though._ All of this was so clinical. Systematic.

And she'd not intended to, of course. She loved neither of her best prospects, but she could see herself married to either easily enough, which had been her goal. They'd both of them make excellent regents and comfortable life partners.

By all expectations and assessments, this union would last.

But to do that, well, she admitted sadly to herself, she'd have to let go. Let go of buried adolescent hopes and dreams for fairy tale endings. Let go of the unrealistic expectations of soul mates and eternal sunshine that she'd fostered and guarded so deep inside her heart.

As she had to let go of Rasler, she had to now let go of Balthier.

_Goodbye,_ her mind quietly whispered, heart stinging in quiet, dignified grief.

"Goodbye," she repeated aloud. Her voice was scratchy; her throat was dry. The feeling overwhelmed her; the sounds of the ocean were muffled in painful silence, her head and heart trembling.

Aware that the hot sun was taking its toll on her, she turned to step back towards the camp. She was still so immersed in her memories, her thoughts, that she didn't see the rock. Stumbling, she felt her heart weep as she realized there was no one to steady her this time.

And her heart stopped when she felt her hand steadied by another's, a strong arm wrapped around her waist.

"Are you all right, your majesty?" Kilbourne asked, concerned.

She'd forgotten he was there, but in that moment, she wondered how she could. The sun-warmed metal of his protective arm about her, the protective concern in his voice, was all she could feel.

Jareth stood one hundred feet away, gesticulating wildly as he conversed with a group of hunters, unaware of the gravity and significance of Ashe's past five minutes.

She wondered if a man like Jareth Kinsey would ever understand. If a man like Al-Cid Margrace could even fathom it.

_Kilbourne would._ Shaking the thought off as she stepped out of his protective embrace, Ashe brushed at her skirts, keeping her gaze fixed away from him. Ashe cleared her throat, but the agitation still made itself heard in her raspy voice. "I suppose the sun's heat got to me."


	8. Chapter 8

Short author's note: I'm very sorry for the delay in posting: I was traveling. Of course, I returned to what felt like the Chapter That Would Never End. Thank you for your patience. Another observation: I've never played any game that would give me any impression of what Bervenia would be like, in terms of geography, etc., so this is entirely made up. My apologies if I offend any sensibilities.

**Disclaimer.** I do not own FFXII or these characters. Please do not sue.

* * *

**A Suitor for Ashe**

**Chapter Eight**

_As charming as the idea of a husband hunt is, the pace that was set by Ashelia was beyond wearying. Suitors were no longer to be assessed, but merely tolerated. Conversations became short, to the point, and completely unromantic. And that rare avowal of love was surprisingly fibrous to process._

_The situation was clear: the Queen had to be saved from herself!_

_Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia_

* * *

"It has been a rather long day, hasn't it?" Jareth asked, solicitously taking her by the arm as they strolled through the gardens after dinner.

Ashe gave a small smile in reply.

A chilling ocean breeze blew in, sneaking in through the delicate lacework of her shawl. She smothered the urge to shiver, if only to avoid bringing more of Jareth's attentions to her.

Aware that Jareth was very proud of his gardens, Ashe did not have the heart to tell him that they gave her a headache to walk through. The gardens were a tangled knot of smells, all sweet and sticky, and slightly nauseating in combination. The flowers were lovely, but had no unification; they bloomed riotously, loud and proud. Sloppy.

It made her miss Rabanastre all the more.

She'd tried to keep her heart and mind open throughout dinner, but ever since her moment on the beach earlier, she'd been agitated with just about everything he said, everything he did.

Jareth Kinsey had a terrible habit of continually clearing his throat; what was that? Did the air not suit him? And why did he always have to play with his hair? Did he fidget all the time? Would he fidget all the time? He seemed one of those beings who was only happy when moving or talking. It was tiresome, trying to keep up with him.

Was the memory of Balthier to be given up for this unworthy rival?

"A bit long. Fairshore is quite extensive and we've seen quite a bit of it the past few days," she replied to his question diplomatically.

"Perhaps the pace was a bit arduous?" he mused, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Ashe forced herself not to step away. "But I was so happy that you'd decided to come; I wanted to show you everything."

His enjoyment was earnest. She almost felt guilty for her ingratitude.

Ashe gave a small smile. "I enjoyed seeing the property and hearing its history," she lied, reassuringly. "However..." she continued quietly, "I have been swept away in the beauty and neglected my duties. I am afraid that I am very far behind in my correspondence. I loathe asking this of you, but, might I excuse myself now to handle a few matters before I retire for the evening?"

Jareth looked disappointed, but nevertheless could not argue with her wishes. "I hope we can still have an early chocobo ride tomorrow morning, before you depart?"

"I think that it can be arranged," Ashe replied with what she hoped was a coy smile.

Jareth walked her back to her chambers and took her hand up to his heart, then to his lips before turning and leaving her alone with Pol and Kilbourne.

Kilbourne swept open the doors of her chambers to make a quick sweep of the rooms before nodding.

Ashe turned to Pol and smiled. "Good night, Pol."

Pol replied with a small bow as he took his post outside her door.

Ashe entered the rooms and threw aside the shawl. "Please?" she asked over her shoulder.

Her belt was unfastened and she thanked him absently as she moved beyond the sitting room and into the bedroom, keeping her door open to talk as she changed. "Oh, I thought the evening would never end!"

"I take it that you've found his attentions less than satisfactory?" Kilbourne asked, moving to the corner of the small sitting room farthest from the door to her bedroom. She was _that_ comfortable with her Archadian judge magister, was she? Forgot that he was a man, did she?

_It's what you wanted._ He reached for a glass and poured a measure of madhu in.

"His attentions were..." Ashe pursed her lips, shook her head as the word came out with a laugh, "attentive." She finished removing her jewelry and wrapped herself in a dressing robe. Ashe leaned her head against the door frame between the two rooms. Kilbourne approached her, holding the glass of liqueur out.

"Thank you," Ashe said, accepting and holding it up in a toast to him before taking a nice, satisfying gulp. She felt the fire of the alcohol burn down her throat and into her belly.

The lapel of her robe needed to be straightened. He moved away before he could reach for it. "So...shall I find the papers on the Plainfurrogh dispute or the Garamond bill?"

She bit her lip in contemplation. "The...?" Ashe shook her head. "Plainfurrough," she stated, making a valiant attempt to hide her reluctance to read.

He watched the thoughts play out on her face; her expressions were always so very easy to read, her features more familiar to him than his own.

She was entitled to the reluctance, he supposed. She was entitled to peevishness, impatience, and still she did not indulge. She'd been far too pleasant, working far too hard for far too long.

He examined her features closely. Exhaustion folded itself into the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her shoulders had collapsed. Her formal elegance had deserted her. She lounged back on the chaise with the glass of madhu in her hand, imbibing the strong drink at an alarmingly fast rate.

He turned away to sort through the portfolio on her desk, locating the appropriate sheaf of papers.

He hadn't assumed that the husband hunt would be easy for her, but he hadn't anticipated the painful look she'd gotten in her eyes every once in a while. He hadn't predicted the shadows on her face, her defeated expression, the fold of confusion on her forehead.

She'd loved Rasler deeply, he'd known. But the hesitancy, the mourning she demonstrated now very clearly showed him what he'd feared and half-known in his heart all along; she'd fallen in love before, and she wouldn't bother to do so again; she did not think it was possible.

He presented the papers to her with a flourish. Ashe smiled at his action as she set aside her now empty glass, reaching to pick up her reading spectacles.

His fingers ached to touch her cheek, adjust the slightly crooked spectacles, and offer her reassurance instead of more work.

"I am completely unfamiliar with this documentation and so am unprepared for discussion. Perhaps you'd like to have the rest of the evening off..." Ashe colored with embarrassment. "I know that there isn't much of it left, but..."

"I am always happy to serve for as long as I am needed," Kilbourne replied conservatively.

Ashe gave a tired smile, a hint of relief in her eyes. "I appreciate it. But I assure you, your attendance this evening is no longer needed. Please, Kilbourne, take what rest you can get. Or perhaps, catch up on your own correspondence," she smiled warmly.

He took his leave with a stiffly executed bow and left her to her reading.

They'd leave for Rozarria tomorrow. Based on his observations this visit, Kinsey hadn't fared very well with her. Though he had faith in the Rozarrian king's courtly manner, she'd need more than a good visit to recover her spirits completely.

She needed more in general.

And he wished to do something about it.

* * *

"This isn't the _Strahl_," Ashe mused, considering the sleek lines of the small narrow hallway.

"No, the _Strahl_ took off a half hour ago for Rozarria, with a woman who looks remarkably like you on board. _This_ is the _Zephyr_, a ship that King Margrace sent to us, for me to pilot."

"_You're_ taking us to Rozarria," Ashe turned to Kilbourne as he guided her into the passenger compartment.

"Yes, but not at first."

Ashe turned to him surprise. "Not at first?"

"No. Your highness, with your permission--that is."

Ashe turned to him. If she didn't know any better, he sounded flustered. "Kilbourne?"

"I have taken generous liberty with your good will and nature," he began apologetically.

"How so?" She narrowed her eyes, leaning against the door of the compartment.

"I sent a message late last night to King Margrace that there would be a delay in your arrival in Rozarria, as you had sudden business elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Yes."

Her heart clenched with worry. "Is there something wrong at home?" she asked breathlessly.

"No, and I've let the appropriate ministers and administrators know where we can be reached should something occur."

"And where, exactly, is that?" she asked.

"Bervenia."

"And what lies in Bervenia?"

"Sanctuary. Please, your highness, just...might you cooperate just this one time and not argue?"

Ashe opened her mouth to protest, closed it, pursed her lips. "I do not argue _every_ time."

"No, you do not," he said, a note of amusement ringing clear in his voice. It was obvious that he'd thought he'd won; the air of concern had disappeared and his natural cool arrogance had returned to him.

Ashe turned towards the window to stare out, her posture stiff, her chin held up in defiance.

"You do not," Kilbourne repeated. "But, I supposed that before you went on to Rozarria, you had the right to a small vacation of sorts, to reconcile your thoughts regarding Kinsey, and to prepare for your visit at Antequera."

Ashe lifted a brow in surprise. She was speechless. "And what lies in Bervenia?" She asked the question again.

Kilbourne took his time in replying, as if he was afraid how she'd process the answer. "Kilbourne?" she asked again. "What's in Bervenia?"

"Havenhurst," he said quietly.

"Havenhurst?" she repeated, question plain in her voice.

"My home."

* * *

"_This_ is your home?" Ashe asked incredulously, as she ran a hand over the smooth polished rosewood table.

The temptation to see the home of her enigmatic protector had outweighed her displeasure at being unceremoniously kidnapped into this so-called vacation to begin with.

"Do you not find it satisfactory?" he asked, a hint of strain in his voice.

"Comfortable enough, but...hardly lived in," Ashe considered, moving from the dining room into the sitting room.

The place was impeccably clean, elegantly and modishly decorated. The large manor house has been quite impressive upon their approach, a wonder of brick and glass, but the inside, though quite beautiful, felt depressingly cold.

"And the gardens?" Ashe paused, looking out the window, fingering one of the exquisitely embroidered, heavy curtains.

"What of them?"

"Indeed, _what of them_? They don't even exist. Why, if I lived here, I'd plant a rose garden. Right here," she gestured out towards the west lawn.

"I...do not come here very often."

"It shows."

"Pardon?"

Ashe turned to scan the room she stood in. The elaborately upholstered and overstuffed couches begged to finally accomplish their life's purpose in being sat in. The artwork on the walls was lovely, undoubtedly done by lauded prodigies, but there were no portraits of ancestors. It was strange to go from a manor home that showed too much pride in history and heritage to one that demonstrated no such quality.

"You said you were bringing me to your _home_, Kilbourne. This isn't a home. This is a manor house. A beautiful one, impeccably decorated, and done in a style _much_ more comfortable than that of Fairshore. But this isn't a home. I see nothing of you here."

"There is not much to show," he said. "I live a rather simple life."

"...in Archades. How often do you come back here?" she asked.

It'd been a mistake to bring her here, to make her think of any facet of his life other than the one that he already presented to her.

But he'd told himself that she'd needed the retreat, the privacy.

She did need it.

Almost as much as he needed to see her here. Standing here, smiling at him as strong emotions wrung and stung in his gut. He'd wanted that image of her here in the west sitting room, telling him he needed a rose garden.

He'd known he'd never stopped loving her, but he hadn't anticipated somehow falling in love with her again, or his love being this overwhelming. Just as he'd never figured he had such a large masochistic streak. "Once or twice a year," he said gruffly, answering her question.

"Once or twice a _year_?" Ashe laughed. "Kilbourne, how can you stay away?"

The place demonstrated an inclination for elegance and comfort, but little more than that. Strangely, she still felt welcome. She looked around at the gleaming hardwood floors, the large windows, the bright and sunny rooms. Even if it had very little personality, the house made her feel more welcome than the sight of Fairshore, with all candles lit ablaze on the dark night she'd arrived.

Was it the building that made it home, or...she considered the man standing next to her.

"Your honor," the silver-haired housekeeper greeted Kilbourne with a smile. "It is a pleasure to have you back, and this time with such an illustrious guest."

"Madame Harris, it's good to be home," he replied without warmth. Ashe wished he didn't wear his helmet, if only to appraise the gaze in his eyes, assess his feelings for the place, for his housekeeper.

"I've prepared the Blue and master rooms, as requested. The bags have been brought to the appropriate chambers," the housekeeper continued. "Mrs. Kenwood has prepared a lovely dinner for tonight."

"Excellent," Kilbourne thanked the housekeeper graciously. "I appreciate your prompt accommodation on the rather insufficient notice."

The housekeeper smiled wryly, clearly demonstrating that she was used to such sudden notice from her master. "It was no trouble at all, sir."

Kilbourne turned to Ashe. "Madame Harris will bring you to your chambers."

Ashe nodded. "Thank you." She moved to follow the housekeeper, but turned back to the judge. "Where and when shall I find you?" she asked, unsure of their plans for the day.

"Tomorrow, noon," he replied, as if surprised that she even had to ask.

Ashe lifted a brow. "Tomorrow?" She stepped towards the judge magister again. "What do you mean? We do not have plans for this afternoon?"

"I have business to attend to, and you...you are here to do whatever you wish," he replied.

_Whatever I wish._ Her heart swelled up in her chest until she was sure she couldn't breathe; it had been longing for this luxury for so strong. The words tickled her fancy, her imagination flying away with the possible ways she'd utilize the time even as the mature, responsible side of her asserted that this was exactly the time she needed to get a jump on the Remington report that had been delivered to her desk just this morning.

"I've confiscated your papers; they will be kept safely in my study until we bring them with us to Rozarria," he stated to her in warning, reading her mind.

Bereft of her responsibilities, she felt...naked. Naked in the wickedest, happiest way. "This is rather presumptuous of you," Ashe said, warning making her voice low even as her heart pounded with the idea of freedom. What was she to do with twenty-six whole hours at her disposal?

"I figured, if I were to overstep my authority, I would do so completely," the judge replied wryly. "The entire estate, including the grounds, is secure, so please do not feel forced to stay indoors. Time's slipping away," he reminded her. "Go put it to good selfish use."

* * *

He'd really meant to give her twenty-six hours to herself, she realized later that evening, as she finished her dinner.

Alone.

She'd not seen him since they'd parted earlier that morning. There'd been no sign of him, and, after she'd been brought to her room by Madame Harris, no sign of his staff; it appeared they were all under strict orders to leave her in peace and privacy.

She'd spent the first two hours napping, and slowly dined on a delicious late lunch on her balcony, clothed in her dressing gown. After getting dressed again, she had amused herself by continuing in her exploration of Havenhurst, laughing and wondering at Kilbourne's taste and style. She'd spent an hour looking around for Madame Harris, hoping to learn more details on the judge, his home, his history. The quest for the housekeeper had been abandoned when Ashe stumbled upon her favorite room in the entire house, the library. And it was to this room that she went to now, feeling surprisingly lonely in her solitude.

She smiled as she opened the door on the now-familiar sight. The library was a mess, clearly the room the judge magister spent the most time in.

It did not surprise her. Kilbourne was extremely well-read, and spoke intelligently and eloquently on a number of topics, from farmers' regulations to Larke's Sonata in G Major.

She'd spent more than half her afternoon exploring this room, thumbing through books, rereading passages. She'd been pleased to discover that the books on the shelves, behind glass doors, were first editions. Normally, she would have spent a non-trivial amount of time scanning through such collections. However, the tomes of most interest to her here were the well-worn, well-read, well-marked textbooks that were scattered throughout the room, covering every available surface.

Kilbourne was, Ashe observed as she snatched up a copy of Dartmoore's _Discourse on Phlogiston_, clearly not just an enthusiast, but a life-long student. The margins had been written in over and over; the notes were of similar hand, obviously of the same writer, but quite distinct in time: faded large lettering of a child, sloppy scrawl of a teenager, even messier scribble of an adult. She fingered the pages with fascination. There were some, herself included, who'd assumed that knowledge and understanding could be effectively gleaned from one reading; it was clear that Kilbourne did not agree. He proved continual discovery in the evolving notes in his evolving handwriting.

What kind of childhood must this man have had? Had he known any life aside from that of scholar? She frowned over some of the solemn observations of the child in a copy of Laerto; he should have been too young to be so cynical already. She caressed the page with a hint of tenderness for that isolated child.

The door opened and she looked up, startled.

Kilbourne stepped back, as if surprised to find her here.

She was disappointed to find that he was still in his shiny best. What kind of man didn't bother to shed his armor in his own home?

Or perhaps he shod it only when he had no guests? Thinking of the private child she'd encountered in the pages she'd perused, she knew it was so.

"Your highness," he said apologetically.

"Kilbourne," she said, clutching the volume of Learto to her chest.

He stepped back to retreat.

"I-I have been enjoying my time here," she said before he could vanish completely.

Kilbourne stopped, replied over his shoulder. "I am glad to hear it."

And because he made no demand of her conversation or company, she got up to approach him. "Kilbourne?"

"Yes, your majesty?" Now he turned to her.

"There's a full moon out tonight. I was hoping to see Havenhurst by moonlight. Perhaps, if you are not too busy..."

Kilbourne hesitated.

Ashe blushed. "I'm sorry. How selfish of me. This is your vacation too. And you said that it was perfectly safe for me to go out alone."

Kilbourne cleared his throat. "There is a lake, not too far from here, perhaps a half hour's stroll each way. The path is a bit tricky. If My Lady is inclined, I would be honored to show her the way."

Ashe wished once more that she did not have the barrier of his helmet. She _felt_ that his invitation was sincere, but knew that, had she not been present, he _would_ be settling down in one of the worn armchairs by the fire, _sans_ armor, reading through Laerto, Paulington, or Grandelle.

"It is a favorite walk of mine," he said succinctly. "And I have observed that I find more peace at the lake than I have found anywhere else in Ivalice."

Touched by this admission, Ashe smiled. "Then the honor will be mine to see it."

He browbeat her into grabbing a heavy shawl before they left the house. He did not take her arm, and he did not offer his. Though he had a long stride, she noted that he walked slower to accommodate her own shorter one.

The sky was cloudless, the moon brilliant.

"Did you grow up here?" Ashe asked. "Is this a family estate?"

"No on both counts."

She was tempted to press the issue. And figured she could turn his tactics against him: she'd wait him out. She turned away, determined to hide her smile from the moonlight when she found the strategy worked.

"I acquired Havenhurst two years ago."

She turned to ask him more, but they'd come over a ridge, and what she saw robbed her of speech, robbed her of breath, robbed her of thought.

A valley stretched below the high, resplendent full moon. Thick forests in the eastern end of the basin absorbed darkness. Tall grass in the expansive meadows undulated in the wind, making fluttery delicate waves. The distant rocky Renault Mountains were silver and smooth; their snowcaps were almost luminescent, so brightly the snow reflected the moonlight. The idyllic tourist trap town of Holding was cozily nestled at the foot of the mountains, at the fringe of the wood, sleepily quiet in its off season.

He watched her drink it in. The wind caressed the tree leaves into lush whimsical whispers, played with her hair which shone silver in the moonlight. Snuck through unseen fissures in his armor to clench at his heart.

"It's beautiful," she said quietly.

At length, she turned, and they continued along the trail.

They walked in amiable, comfortable silence. Entering the forest, she realized that in another time, in another place, she would have felt nervous, worried that she had no weapon, no means of defending herself. She felt perfectly safe here. And the beauty of the night seduced her into a sense of peace.

The pathway was dappled with patches of moonlight. The nightsong of the birds was enchanting. The air was crisp and fragrant. Having grown up in a world entirely different, the novelty of the alpine wilderness enthralled her senses completely.

A perfect place. With the perfect company.

She loved this. Was it his personality or his occupation that made him such a perfect companion? So respectful of her privacy, yet completely aware of her needs.

She felt so safe with him. Light.

The path was coming across another ridge now, and they broke through the trees, out of the forest.

She could see no lake before her. There were twin dark forests, tall mountains, and moonlit skies emerging up and down from a bisecting line, so still was the water. Ashe gasped as she stepped forward to the lake edge and dipped her hands in the reflection. Cool, silky water. Concentric circles perturbed the image, and wonder and delight had her grinning, turning back to her companion with a laugh, unable to enunciate her feelings. She hoped he was smiling. She wished he would demonstrate any sort of reaction. She wondered if he was glad he shared this with her.

He moved to stand next to her perch, taking his cape off to spread at her feet. Ashe smiled at his gallantry and accepted it, sitting down upon the soft fabric and taking off her shoes to dip her feet in the water. Ashe lay back on the cape, staring up into the sky.

"You're of good blood, aren't you, Kilbourne?" she asked absently.

He tried to maintain a semblance of indifference to her question, but his heart nearly dropped into his stomach. "Decent enough, I suppose."

Ashe turned over, folding her arms and propping her chin on her hand as she watched her companion. "And-and you have this beautiful home in Bervenia. Which, I presume, must come with a title."

He took his time in replying. "That is true. On both counts."

"And you are acquainted with the ways of my court."

"Enough to function within the boundaries," he replied modestly.

"That would make...you...an appropriate suitor, would it not?"

The unspoken question lay between them.

_Why are you not pursuing me?_

He was speechless with longing, confusion. At length, he replied. "Your majesty..."

Ashe turned away, cheeks flushed, embarrassed she'd put her judge magister in the situation when he was being so kind to her. "It's getting late. I can't believe--that is--we should go."

It would be wise to leave this enchanted place, Ashe decided, as she picked up Kilbourne's cape and offered it back to him. Wise to leave before she did something foolish, like ask _him_ to marry _her_.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

I've made a move across country and started my new job! So sorry to take so long in writing, but rest assured that I am still hard at work on our Pirate and Princess.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters or their world.

**A Suitor for Ashe**

**Chapter Nine**

_It was the events that transpired in Rozarria that settled matters._

_Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia_

* * *

"There it is again."

Ashe smiled self-consciously as she took a moment to take a sip of sangria. The flavorful blend of tart and sweet burst on her tongue, teasing her lips into a pleased smile.

"There what is? Again?" she asked, turning her attention to her companion.

His smile was gleaming bright against his bronze skin, his broad shoulders covered with the finest and lightest of linen shirts. He exuded a sexual poetry in his indolence, and she was not unaware of his charms. "That lovely smile. Ashelia, you smile with a new knowledge. It's enough to make a man forget everything and wonder what, or whom you are thinking of."

There, in the oversaturated humidity of Antequera's rainforest clime, Ashe felt her throat become rough and dry, and her skin pale beneath the unrepentantly gauche sunlight.

In truth, she hadn't been thinking of any one thing in particular, but perhaps, her thoughts did center on one person. She'd been wondering how Kilbourne fared in this weather, if he liked it enough to live here in her service, should she and Al-Cid marry. How long he'd remain in her service after her marriage, for that matter. Why he refused to court her. Why he now seemed determined to spend as little time with her in private as possible. If that meant that perhaps...

Ashe contemplated her answer to Al-Cid's inquiry over another sip of sangria. "I've recently had an epiphany. It's made me strive to be more honest with myself and my feelings."

She heard a hiss from a few steps away and felt her annoyance with her judge magister grow. He needn't have sounded so doubtful.

"It sounds remarkably liberating," Al-Cid ventured carefully.

"Quite," Ashe smiled. Inspired, she placed a hand on the king's shoulder. "I hope that we may speak plainly to each other."

"You do?" Al-Cid pulled his arm back from her hand and sat up straight, looking at her over the top rim of his sunglasses.

It was clear just how horrifically surprised he was. Ashe had to laugh. "Perhaps we won't enjoy _all_ our revelations at once, but I hope that through honesty, we may be able to move beyond trading empty compliments, thereby allowing us to properly assess whether or not we suit."

Al-Cid whistled through his teeth. "You weren't kidding about your honesty," he said, combing a hand through his thick dark hair.

Ashe placed her hand over his in comforting reply. "I like you, Al-Cid, and I enjoy your company."

Al-Cid entwined their fingers. "I enjoy yours as well," he said, in a playful tone, but with earnest eyes.

Ashe enjoyed how his simple statement curled around her thoughts. It was wonderful to feel so forthright, and though she tried, she could not resist comparing how quickly Al-Cid, the consummate flirt, had decided to embrace honesty to how her judge magister, the supposed paragon of truth and honesty, had ironically become even more reserved over the past couple of days. "I think we would have a good marriage if we tried," she pressed with the Rozarrian monarch.

His eyes widened with how quickly she raised the stakes, but his mouth curved into a very gratified smile. "Agreed. And I'd like to state that I think you'd make a good queen to both our countries."

Ashe grinned. "I think that's one of the best compliments you've ever given me."

Moment of truth over, they talked easily and extensively over the many things they'd seen over the course of the afternoon during their tour of the textile factories. Ashe laughed heartily over Al-Cid's absolutely irreverent and perfect imitation of the minister of trade's obsequious manners.

She leaned on his arm as he guided her towards her chambers, very pleased by his gallantry; it rang much more eloquently now than his previous attentions. Gone was contrivance; in its place, a genuine delight was enunciated in his actions.

It was enough to tug at a woman's heart. And play more than a bit with her already muddled head.

Confusion plagued her. She snuck glances at her stoic judge magister, wondering why these emotions, which should have been a relief, made her feel so disgruntled.

"I am thinking of proposing to you tomorrow morning, perhaps over a luxurious champagne brunch," Al-Cid said, half-serious, half-smiling, as they reached the door of her chambers.

The question caught her off guard, but was not completely unwelcome; had she not asked for this open honesty? "I--I am thinking of accepting it." Al-Cid parted with her on an eloquent handclasp and a teasing wink. After a quick security sweep, Kilbourne made for a quick exit but was thwarted by the uncertain shyness in Ashe's voice: "Just...stay with me? Please? For a bit?" she sighed. "I would prefer your company, right now."

Even though he made no move towards the door, she could sense his ambivalence. "Please," she repeated.

"All right," he agreed.

Ashe poured herself a modest serving of iced tea. "I suppose it is useless to ask if you'd partake?" she inquired.

"Correctly guessed: I will abstain."

"Might we go out onto the balcony?"

Kilbourne opened the doors and stepped out first.

Ashe joined him, resting the already perspiring glass atop a plinth, folding her arms over the balustrade. It was wonderful to be standing here with him, so wonderful that she concentrated her efforts on keeping the air between them light, amiable.

"You took an unorthodox tack with Margrace."

Ashe smiled. "It seemed to work quite well."

"I think he was impressed."

"And you?"

The judge cleared his throat. "I was similarly impressed."

"I am glad of it. I hope it is clear to you how...helpful you've been to me in this time."

"It is my pleasure to serve, and I am...gratified that my influence has been a positive one."

She enjoyed her tea slowly, occasionally holding the cold glass to her temples. She winced as she considered the judge at her side. How selfish she'd been; he was probably rusting in his suit now! She opened her mouth to dismiss him when he spoke.

"I suppose--"

Ashe raised a brow. "Yes?"

"The hunt is at an end?" he asked.

"Unless you have reason to object to my choice?" Ashe asked. "That is, if you know something about him..." she said, awkwardly.

Kilbourne replied with painful promptness: "No objection whatsoever. Over the course of our acquaintance, I have discovered much in him to respect."

Ashe turned to look over the balcony on to the barely confined rainforest a few yards away. "Then I suppose so: the hunt is coming to an end."

"I am glad to hear it."

"I am similarly relieved," Ashe said quietly. "Though--"

"Though?"

She wanted to turn to him, press him.

So silly of her, to wish for too much.

He'd already made his reaction to her...curiosity clear. She was not so foolish to ask again.

Her pride wouldn't let her, even as her heart yearned for an explanation, at the very least.

"Though I still wish we could have had more time to court, I feel...safe in my choice. Especially so tonight, after our illuminating discussion," she said carefully.

"It is gratifying to hear you sound so at peace with your decision."

"Yes," Ashe said softly, feeling suffocated in the humidity even as a breeze cooled her sticky skin.

"If your majesty has no further need of my company, I feel I must press for my departure; the hour has grown late, and you have a rather long day tomorrow. It is predicted that the heat will reach heretofore unseen levels. Please stay hydrated; the parade will likely be quite wearying."

Ashe smiled her dismissal, and with a quick bow Kilbourne was out of her balcony, and out of her chambers.

She continued to lean against the balustrade, and worried at the continued unrest in her heart.

* * *

The dimpled girl rigorously waved the banner of Dalmasca. Ashe's heart swelled with pride as she waved.

She now understood why Al-Cid sported shades; the streets of Madeira were blindingly white in the high sun. She was thankful when he considerately drew out a second pair of shades from the recesses of his pockets.

Even now, with the aid of the shades, dark dots still danced in the periphery of her vision: a sure sign that she'd tarried in the sun too long and that her body demanded water.

She made a small discrete signal to one of the Rozarrian guards, who immediately left his place to address her needs. Another guard immediately stepped up to take the man's place.

Ashe looked forward; by her calculations, a mere quarter-mile remained between her and the destination of their parade, the town square where they were to announce their engagement.

The ring rested in Al-Cid's right pocket, ready to be placed on her finger. They'd checked earlier to make sure of the fit.

It must have been the rich brunch fare that made her movements feel so sluggish now. That, and the heat. Why else would her feet feel one hundred stone, each?

It seemed she'd never get to the square.

She saw the man at the corner of her eye. In a heartbeat, lethargy was stripped away from her as her gracious smile vanished. She only had enough time to pull up an arm in defense before the assassin's momentum threw them both to the ground.

She felt the bite of blade behind her ear, the surge of pain shoot up her left leg, and the horrendous massive weight of her attacker suffocating her.

All that was forgotten when she saw that her attacker pulled back his arm, with the intention of plunging a dagger into her chest. She braced her hands on his forearms and shoved with everything within her, locking her elbows stiff, feeling the adrenalin freeze her muscles.

And just as quickly as the threat had appeared, it was disarmed.

Ashe shifted away to avoid the dropping dagger.

The would-be assassin screamed in pain, clutching at his hand, which was, Ashe noted, shot clean through. The man was knocked unconscious with the butt of a rifle, and was shoved aside as she heard Kilbourne's stern and commanding voice. "Subdue the prisoner and take him into custody," Kilbourne ordered quickly, taking her up in his arms.

Ashe blinked, cold shock clenching her gut; someone had just tried to assassinate her?

"Espinoza?" she heard her judge ask for the Rozarrian security director.

"Yes, your honor?"

"I will stop by later to question the perpetrator."

Espinoza paused, as if doubting the judge's jurisdiction, but Kilbourne was already striding away. Ashe was vaguely aware of her soon-to-be fianc following the security director, grim line sealing his lips together.

Kilbourne did not stop to ask for the king's presence or assistance. He stormed past the crowds beyond the town square.

Ashe clutched his armored shoulders, feeling the hot steel burning her skin, discomfort and pain now making themselves known and acutely felt.

A trio of guards stood before a secured inn and Kilbourne nodded as he carried the queen into the building, and set her upon a lumpy couch.

Kilbourne leaned down over her. "Your majesty. Are you all right?" he asked.

"My ankle, and...I think, my head..." Ashe uttered, biting her lip to take her mind off the pain. "The ankle hurts more. I twisted it when I went down. I can't move my--"

"If my lady could please hold still for a mere moment." Kilbourne pulled off his gloves. Ashe's eyes widened at this first glimpse of the man underneath the armor. It was enough to distract her from the biting pain that was now shooting up her left leg.

"May I check for breaks?" he asked.

Speechless, she nodded.

Kilbourne carefully removed her slipper and set it aside. His hands were rough with calluses but surprisingly gentle. He cupped the back of her foot as his fingers pressed testingly against her ankle. She winced at the pressure, and then was surprised how comforted she felt at his touch. "Severely sprained," he said at length. He muttered in quiet, soothing tones, and she felt warmth seep into her pores; a cure spell.

"If you keep off it for the next few hours, it should be as good as new," Kilbourne stood, pulling a handkerchief from a seam in his armor and wiping his hands. He then drew forward, his hands to her shoulder and neck to examine the wound behind her ear.

And this time, Ashe was sure that the heat she felt was not from any spell; it'd been so long since she'd felt so...physically close to a man. She closed her eyes to the sensation. She took a deep breath, and was disappointed she couldn't detect a hint of cologne, or soap even. She was really wearying of his armor.

Kilbourne swore. "Dipped in something. The area looks infected. Does it sting?"

"Only vaguely."

Kilbourne placed his palm gently against the wound, letting his long elegant fingers tangle in her hair. Ashe hoped her hiss of sheer yearning was interpreted as one of pain.

What a strange moment to feel thus.

His strong hands shook with barely restrained frustration and temper as he uttered another healing spell, this time in clipped tones. After she felt the last vestiges of warmth seep into her skin, she reached up to touch the judge magister's hand to keep it in its place. She tried not to blush when her heart started pounding so loudly she could have sworn the entirety of Rozarria could have heard it. Her mouth felt rough and dry; she licked her lips.

He pulled his hand back, as if burned. She wanted to clutch at it, but pride held her back.

"Do you feel light-headed?"

She stared at him. "I am shaken, but...you have alleviated my distress," she said huskily.

Slowly, he picked up his gauntlets and meticulously snapped them back into place.

How strange it was that she was so fascinated by this intimate reverse striptease.

She stared at his helmet as he finished, imagining a face behind the visor. She felt him stare back at her, and kept her chin high in challenge, imagining that she was, at this moment, staring straight into his eyes.

The hesitant knock at the door startled them both. Ashe frowned at the disruption. Kilbourne turned to the door. "Enter," he said with, she mused, not just a little relief.

Two young guards entered. At Kilbourne's nod, one spoke, "We have brought a carriage with us, your honor, and are ready to escort you and her majesty back to the palace."

"Thank you," Ashe said, pushing herself up on her seat.

Kilbourne held a hand up to protest her movement. "I do not think that your ankle is ready for the weight yet."

Ashe sighed.

"So...if you would...allow me," he said quietly, bending close, "I think it would be best if I carried you to the carriage."

Unable to speak a word, she conveyed her agreement with a small nod of her head.

* * *

"Security was unacceptably lax," he quipped with barely restrained fury.

"I have taken measures to ensure Ashelia's safety from now on," the king said, lips pressed tightly with his own vexation at the events of the day. The frustration at the civil unrest was temporarily set aside, though, for this discussion. One that he'd awaited for some now, probably from the first moment he'd encountered the judge magister back in Rabanastre.

"Good," the judge magister managed diplomatically, obviously withholding more acrid remarks. Kilbourne turned to look out the window. "She must be protected."

"She will be," Al-Cid reassured. "Well, as much as she will allow for."

Kilbourne's silence was eloquent.

"We must be realistic. She has her own mind. You know she would not accept living only in this palace; her responsibilities--no, her own personality _demands_ that she appear in public, among the people, in the fabric of her country." Al-Cid cleared his throat, "Short of protecting her yourself..." he ventured in challenge.

Kilbourne gritted his teeth, hoping his annoyance was not too obvious.

"...your own tenure in her service is due to come to end at some point...the truth of the matter, _Kilbourne_," the king stood up, putting a firm hand on the judge magister's gauntlet, "is that you care."

The judge magister left the remark unacknowledged.

"The question now remains: how _much_ do you care, prodigal pirate?"

The air was ripe with irritation. Al-Cid stared the armored man down, daring him to contradict his assertion. At length, Kilbourne turned away, bowing stiffly. "I take my leave," he said, gruffly.

Al-Cid nodded, and the judge moved towards the exit. "Good night, Bunansa," he needled, letting the word settle in, tease.

The judge did not reply as he stepped out the room.

* * *

She hadn't realized she'd nodded off until the clock's pronouncement of the two o'clock hour startled her out of sleepy reverie. She glanced about herself, recalling her surroundings. She sat up in her chair, picking up the book that had fallen off her lap in slumber.

She was in Kilbourne's chambers, awaiting his return.

The room was suffocating in its stuffiness and heat. She moved to the window. Pulling back the curtain, she sighed with relief at the thick clouds that shrouded the waning gibbous moon; it would rain soon. She threw up the sash of the window, and wondered if the air really was any cooler outside.

Behind her, the door opened and closed. She'd heard no voices come from the hallway; she'd not been announced.

She opened her mouth to speak, to alert Kilbourne of her presence, but was hesitant when she felt his frustration, anger.

Her breath caught as she heard the unbuckle and snap of his helmet.

Her heart was in her throat; she ached to keep silent, all the same knowing she _had_ to announce herself. It was wrong for her not to speak out; she knew that this invasion of privacy would be a terrible crime against him, when he'd done nothing but prove himself her steadfast champion.

But she could not stop her curiosity, her desire to know him better. To be with him. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

The darkness mocked her subterfuge; she could not make his features out; she could barely ascertain the outline of his figure.

And before she could clear her throat, move closer, or even think about doing either, the shadow moved, an arm wound itself around her frame and a blade was pressed to her throat.

For the second time in twelve hours, she felt his closeness. Her eyelids fluttered at the feel of his breath on her neck.

Just as quickly, he identified her and cursed, pushing away from her and stepping back into the thicker darkness of the room. "Your highness."

"My apologies, Kilbourne." She wet her lips. "It-" she began gruffly. "I had the guards let me in," she said.

He moved to put on his helmet, but she stepped close to him once more, putting a beseeching hand to his arm, wanting to...say something, anything before he hid himself again. "Thank you," she said.

He paused.

Ashe stepped back. He did not continue to remask. Her stomach quivered. She cleared her throat, trying to not acknowledge the significance of his decision to remain unmasked with her. "Who was the assassin?"

"Urutan-Yensa."

Ashe hissed.

"Margrace has been dealing with continued unrest at his border with the Sandsea; there have been rumors of secession."

"Was the insurgent working alone?"

"As far as we know. Margrace is infuriated and will take measures to improve security; he is speaking with military strategists later tonight. He also wishes to convey to you the hope that today's events do not hurt his chances."

"And--" she said hesitantly. "And you?"

She wondered if he'd heard the question, he took so long in replying: "What about me?"

"What do you think? What are you thinking now?" Ashe asked.

Kilbourne sighed. "I don't think today's events should affect the way you feel. You and he were preparing to announce your engagement this afternoon; you do not have time for delays. I also think that a marriage would secure the situation with the Urutan-Yensa; with both your countries flanking the Sandsea, the situation will be contained."

"Is...is that all?" she asked, stepping closer. It was foolish to hope that he'd felt something this afternoon, amidst the tension, people, and chaos. Still.

"We've already discussed, at length, the advantages of the match," Kilbourne said. "Does your majesty need reassurance?"

Heart pounding, she extended a hand, and pressed against his chestplate. She traced the metal, palm following the smooth line, to his warm, sweaty neck. A day's growth of stubble rasped against her fingers, tickled her palm. She stopped her journey when she cupped his chin.

Her legs felt like jelly, but she locked her knees, trying to hold her position.

"I've been thinking," she said, huskily.

She felt his jaw tighten as he took her hand firmly in his and stepped away from her. "It is an hour unsuitable for rational thought," he said tightly.

_I cannot be rational,_ her petulant heart cried.

What was she doing?

Everything in her told her to speak honestly with this man, to lay her thoughts at his door, entrust her feelings in his care. She could sense his hesitation, but...perhaps...

...and what of her fianc? She'd accepted another man's proposal of marriage earlier this day. What of it?

Someone had _tried to kill her_ today.

Though she was not inexperienced in the ways of battle, the attempt this afternoon had been the first since her ascension. She'd been without weapon, without armor. Had it not been for Kilbourne...Ashe shuddered, putting a hand to her temple. The adrenalin had worn off hours ago; the emotional rush, mere minutes.

Kilbourne noticed the change and guided the queen into an armchair. "Your majesty? Are you all right?"

Ashe shook her head. "...no, Kilbourne. I'm not. I'm confused." Frustration, exhaustion, and sadness laced her words.

Hesitantly, awkwardly, he placed his gloved hand on her shoulder. "Things will become much clearer with the light of day," the judge promised. "Let us talk tomorrow."

She leaned into the touch, feeling his initial hesitation, then acceptance. "Tomorrow, then," she said.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters of FFXII.

**A Suitor for Ashe**

**Chapter Ten**

_Ambivalence and uncertainty surrounded Ashelia's depature from Rozarria. Was she angered at the attempt on her life? There had been rumors that she and Margrace had gotten engaged: why hadn't they announced it? And where was her Archadian shadow?_

With a mere two weeks left in her deadline, and the Urutan-Yensa insurgents growing more restless, all awaited news from the queen with bated breath.

Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia

* * *

"Ashe?"

Her reflection fell into focus, and she met her gaze with Penelo's in the mirror. "Hm? Yes, Penelo?" Ashe took the peridot and amethyst pendant from the vanity and fiddled with the tangled chain to keep her fingers busy.

Penelo took in the queen's clenched jaw, tired eyes, trembling fingers. Ashe wasn't sleeping well and had been continually distracted since that last morning in Rozarria when she had discovered not Kilbourne, but her, Penelo, in her chambers, ready with breakfast.

The unexpected but joyful reunion was inundated with questions, questions which Penelo was sorry she could not answer. Ashe hid her disappointment, but could not fool her experienced lady-in-waiting.

The disappointment had grown when breakfast had been followed by a tense conversation with Al-Cid, who apologetically but firmly informed her that her visit in Rozarria would likely have to end, as he was currently besieged with meetings and had very unpleasant, very stressful decisions to make.

That had been followed by his hesitation over when they were to announce their engagement.

And so, here they were, nearly a week later, in front of Ashe's vanity, no more cognizant of what was afoot than they had been at their departure.

Ashe _hated_ being left uninformed, and Penelo could think of nothing else Al-Cid could have done to kill Ashe's interest in him so effectively.

The Rozarrian king had demonstrated no worries over such a fate, though, as they said goodbye. In fact, Penelo worried, it had appeared Al-Cid was entirely uninterested in marrying Ashe.

It could have been all the war-talk, though. Nothing could kill romance as effectively as talk of war.

However much of a prat Al-Cid was being now, though, Penelo had come to the conclusion that Ashe's distraction did not revolve around her inattentive suitor; no, it seemed that she spent more time wondering over the disappearance of her Archadian judge magister.

And who could blame her? Not a full twenty-four hours after unambiguously displaying his proficiency in his role as protector, Kilbourne had left!

Penelo had received the urgent request to return to her queen at six in the morning in Archades, and had arrived at Antequera at seven, local time. She had gotten a terse briefing from the judge, being told that the queen, having stayed up entirely too late the night before, would not awaken for another few hours at least. He had outlined the extent of her injuries and given her a detailed history of the events of the day before. He had then bowed, got on the airship, and was gone. Without saying goodbye to Ashe.

No, Ashe's confusion over Kilbourne's strange behavior was perfectly understandable. Especially considering, as Penelo was startled to discover, that the queen had gone and gotten herself emotionally attached to him.

Not that Ashe was particularly obvious about that, but Penelo knew. She'd known from the moment the light went out of Ashe's eyes upon seeing that Penelo, and not Kilbourne, was waiting for her in the sitting room.

Penelo did not know what to make of the queen's predilection, and so decided to wait for Ashe to open the discussion.

Six days had passed since their return to Rabanastre, and Ashe was still as reticent on the topic.

In the meanwhile, no word came from Archades. No letters from Larsa, as she'd secretly and quietly hoped for. It had only been six days, but she'd thought that...but nevermind.

This visit was well-timed, getting Penelo out of Archades before she could do something truly foolish, like thinking beyond her station. But, at the very least, she hoped that he missed having tea with her, and felt a little lonely when three o'clock in the afternoon rolled around.

"Any word this morning?" Ashe asked.

Penelo cleared her throat. "Nothing," she said gruffly. "Except a request from the prime minister to call on you today."

Ashe's lips were tight as she formed her words slowly. "No word...and an appointment with the prime minister..." The motivation for the prime minister's visit was, undoubtedly, to remind Ashe of her deadline, and to inquire if she was close to making her selection.

Ashe scowled. Here she was, with a fianc who didn't feel it was a good time to announce an engagement. An appropriate suitor whom she was not sure she could stand. And a man who found the idea of marriage so repugnant he fled under the cover of darkness.

Ashe cleared her throat. "I think I have to write a letter."

* * *

"...and so, my recommendation is to furnish half the funds and demand the League give up the rest. Does this recommendation meet your approval?"

Larsa sat up in his chair slowly. Though he did not look up, Kilbourne knew the emperor was exchanging glances with the other two judge magisters. The same way they'd been doing for the past ten days, whenever he was in their presence. "Ah, yes, that sounds reasonable."

"Then I will draw up the paperwork immediately to present to the Senate for approval," Kilbourne nodded. "That concludes my report, sire."

"Anything else from either of you?" Larsa turned to Gabranth and Rjth.

"No," Gabranth shrugged and Rjth shook her head.

"Well, then," Larsa stood, and went to the bell pull. He informed the servant who entered to show Captain O'Neal up.

"Vaan?" Gabranth asked. His judges looked between themselves in confusion.

"I figured that he, too, had a vested interest in our discussion, Kilbourne. He, and Gabranth and Rjth."

Kilbourne opened his mouth to protest, then sat in disgruntled silence. "I thought I had asked for a private audience," Kilbourne scowled. "It was, after all, why I put my request in _writing_ and delivered it early this morning."

"It's private enough," Larsa replied. "And I should think that all parties present have a vested interest in your news. As your colleagues and, dare I remind you, friends."

Kilbourne kept his doubts on their continued friendship to himself.

"What'd I miss?" Vaan asked, entering the room and settling in at one of the chairs.

"Kilbourne wishes to tender his resignation," Larsa declared knowingly.

Kilbourne was not at all surprised at Larsa's preemptive strike. Sure, it had been a foregone conclusion that the minute the young man received the request, he'd already know regarding what matters this meeting would be about.

Still, Larsa's blas bandying the topic about was more than a little irritating.

"Your resignation?" Gabranth asked, with a growing grin on his face.

Amusement saturated Rjth's voice. "You're going to pursue her."

"About time," Vaan punctuated his approval with a slap of a hand on the table.

Kilbourne ground his teeth. The way they so cheerfully spoke, it was as if they'd all anticipated this announcement, from the moment it'd been decided that _he_ would accompany Larsa to Rabanastre those many weeks ago.

He didn't think of it that way. Even now, hearing the plan from their lips, it just seemed too unlikely, too impossible to contemplate.

He'd left Ashe certain that the distance would give him the clarity he needed to dismiss his impulsive dangerous thoughts. He hadn't realized that the thoughts were not to be dismissed, that the memory of Ashe's smile, the tantalizing softness of her touch would follow and haunt him.

But that wasn't why he was marrying her.

He was marrying her because he had to protect her.

And it was clear, from the lack of news from _that_ quarter, that she and Al-Cid were not engaged yet. What were they vacillating over?

Measures had to be taken.

Kilbourne cleared his throat and answered defensively: "Yes. I intend to court her majesty." Turning back to his emperor, he swallowed his pride and made his second request, "And, to speed along the courtship, I wish that you, as Emperor of Archadia, endorse my candidacy as prospective suitor for the Queen of Dalmasca."

"And would this endorsement be for...Kilbourne?"

Kilbourne bit a curse back. "Ah..."

"He's in a bit of a bind, I'll admit that," Gabranth said.

"The deception cannot be maintained for much longer. Reveal yourself," Rjth suggested.

"No way. Get married first, then tell her," Vaan chimed in. "Then you can take your time in courting her and getting her to forgive you. You know, after she kicks your ass out of her court for half a year."

"You can't become Regent behind the judge's mask, Kilbourne. The people of Dalmasca deserve to know that she marries a _man_, and not a mask next week," Gabranth admonished.

Gabranth hadn't told him anything new, but Kilbourne still felt the onset of a headache. "I need to think it through."

"Whatever your decision, I can and will accompany you to Rabanastre for the formal introduction, and announce my endorsement publicly if only to...facilitate Ashe's revelation and understanding," Larsa said tentatively.

Kilbourne nodded, and turned to Vaan. It was just as well that the young man was here...

"If you're trying to fix on a time to privately inform Vaan that you're going to end your 'partnership', there is no need. I don't see why your joint venture should be ended."

Kilbourne turned to the emperor in surprise.

Gabranth and Rjth, having jumped to the correct conclusion, groaned their disappointment in the background. "What were you thinking, you fool?" Gabranth asked.

Larsa cleared his throat, ignoring Gabranth's remarks. "Your prosperous operation has located countless valuable artifacts for our museum collections, so I don't see why you should hesitate to continue your association."

Kilbourne turned to Larsa, dawning irritation, anger even, very evident on his face. He turned to Vaan. "O'Neal," he growled.

"He asked me first," Vaan said defensively. "And I'm _your friend_."

"My affairs are none of your concern," he argued, turning back to the emperor.

"Wrong." Larsa kept his tone low and authoritative to make his meaning crystal clear. "My judge magisters _are_ administers of the law, but they are not above it. I told you, when you asked for entrance into my court five years ago, that I expected you to honor your position and responsibilities. I simply ensured it."

"You didn't trust him," Rjth said, narrowing her eyes, assessing the king. Larsa met her gaze steadily. "Rightfully so," she said.

"I trusted _you_," Larsa said in reassurance.

She nodded, appreciating his remark.

"You should have just fired me," Kilbourne grumbled.

Larsa sighed, rubbing his temples. "And where would you have gone?"

"It was none of your concern."

"As your employer, perhaps not. But as your _friend_..."

Kilbourne cringed at the word, and appeared contrite about this crime, at the very least. "I did not mean to take advantage of our friendship."

"What were you thinking?" Gabranth persisted. "And why didn't _you_ just deny him?" he asked Vaan.

"It wasn't _about_ thinking. He was panicking." Rjth replied to the first question, knowingly. "You must love her very much to so methodically sabotage yourself, and then pursue her despite it."

"I was not panicking," Kilbourne replied so quickly nobody believed him. He would have protested the claims of love, if he knew he could without blushing.

"And I was merely following orders," Vaan nodded at Larsa.

Larsa sighed. "If he had to perpetuate a _fantasy_ of rebellion, who was I to begrudge my judge magister's only outlet for...creativity?" Larsa replied. "And it was good for the museum."

"Fantasy?" Kilbourne looked at his emperor with new eyes, now very aware of just how intelligent and prepared the young man had become. He had missed nothing, and anticipated everything. It was as stunningly admirable as it was so damned frustrating. "So...every excursion that Vaan and I planned?"

"Funded and approved by me, as well as a board of trustees."

"And the payoffs?"

"Approved expenditures from Archadian coffers."

"You can't pay that well."

"You got the whole cut," Vaan said. "What? Ondore pays well."

Gabranth marveled at the young man's generosity. If Kilbourne weren't so completely pissed, he might have been touched.

Maybe. Realizing his role in the discussion was over, Larsa swept off his seat. "As _stimulating_ as this conversation is, I have to go dedicate a hospital." He moved towards the doorway, and tossed his parting remark over his shoulder at his recalcitrant judge magister. "Decide what you want, and let me know."

The judges stared at the doorway in silence. Gabranth turned his companions, amused. "You have to admit. He's acquired a certain element of...style."

* * *

"...and it gives me great pleasure to present these tapestries, as a gift from my estate in Phon," Jareth Kinsey presented with a flourish.

The members of the court smiled and gasped with admiration over the articles in question. Perhaps the women sighed over the look of the man himself.

He was very handsome in ceremonial dress, resplendent with the intricate gold-threaded embroidery that was so distinctive of his homeland.

With a week until her deadline, it was now clear, to both him and her court, exactly what would occur within the next few days. Kinsey was smooth, proud, and not a little bit annoying in his arrogance.

The servant brought the tapestries forward for her inspection. Ashe made the appropriate motions of admiration. He was quite thoughtful, Ashe mused. She wasn't "settling" for him, she reassured herself.

Even _if_ she'd not received news from either Rozarria or Archadia.

Every time she thought of Rozarria, though, she felt foolish; surely, it was rather frivolous to think of marriage when Al-Cid had more pressing matters.

But as for Kilbourne...she turned to the corner, from where Penelo sent her an encouraging smile. And smiled back awkwardly as she once again reminded herself that she'd been perfectly fine in court without him, once upon a time.

She didn't know what was more wounded: her pride or her heart. And when she speculated on just how much her heart hurt, she wondered just how much she'd allowed herself to hope...

Ashe cleared her throat. "Really, Kinsey, these are lovely. Thank you for your generosity."

Her suitor bowed.

"Please take the afternoon to settle in. I will see you during dinner," she said with a hospitable smile.

Kinsey grinned in reply, took a bow, and withdrew.

Ashe turned to Penelo, who signaled to her that she only needed to keep her court open for another hour before retiring for dinner preparations. Ashe sighed and nodded to the master of ceremonies. "Yes, send the next petitioner in."

"Judge Magister Gabranth," the master of ceremonies intoned.

Speculation tunneled through the crowd on a growing murmur. The Dalmascan Court had only just gotten accustomed to Kilbourne's presence; another judge magister? Why? Ashe maintained a look of unconcern, but inwardly, she worried. Had something happened to Kilbourne? Or had she frightened Kilbourne into a strategic bureaucratic reassignment to avoid returning to her?

The disappointment could not be made unfelt, but the joy of seeing her former bodyguard provided a small measure of consolation. She was glad to see Basch again, even if he _did_ wear his late brother's identity. "Judge magister," she said smoothly.

Gabranth took a slow, sweeping bow, demonstrating a content confidence that she'd not seen when they'd parted five years ago. While she could not see his face, he seemed to be pretty well off, and she was happy for him. "Your majesty. I arrive as herald of my delegation; Lord Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, Emperor of Archadia, sends his compliments and seeks entrance in your court."

Ashe raised an inquiring brow. Larsa had never exercised such formal customs before, and had always happily taken his welcome for granted. "The House of Solidor is always welcome here," Ashe replied. "Lord Solidor's petition is granted."

Gabranth bowed, and turned to swiftly exit the throne room. Talk became louder as seconds passed, theories were bandied about between members of the court, a general sense of tension pervaded the room. What was Larsa Solidor here for?

Ashe felt the pit of her stomach grow. He wasn't here to seek her hand in marriage, was he?

She turned to seek reassurance and counsel in the corner. Once again, she was disappointed when Penelo smiled back to her uncertainly, clearly just as confused.

Silence fell on the room suddenly as the master of ceremonies cleared his throat. The announcement of the arrival of Emperor Larsa Ferrinas Solidor resounded through the quiet hall.

Ashe rose and stood with locked knees, hands clenched at her side. She struggled to maintain a look of regal composure on her face.

The doors were pulled back wide. The members of Ashe's court leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the entering entourage.

Gabranth came through first and stood to the left side of the double doors. Another judge magister of considerable height entered; the large rabbit ears that poked out of the helmet indicated to Ashe that she looked on Larsa's Viera judge magister, Rjth. Basch's wife, she understood. Rjth took her position on the right side of the entrance. Larsa strode into the room with full confidence and no hesitation. He was the most formally dressed she'd ever seen him, in the whites of the Archadian navy, a bold blue decorated sash bisecting his chest, and a ceremonial, jewel-encrusted sword at his side.

He didn't enter alone.

Ashe felt an overwhelming sense of relief as she laid hungry eyes once more on Kilbourne, who stood a few steps behind his emperor: tall, magnificent, his armor as meticulously polished as it always was.

It was in that second that she realized the truth that had been clear for some time now, if unacknowledged: she _would not_ marry any but this man.

This man who could tempt her into lightness with his gravity. Who could challenge her with his considerable intelligence. Who could make her blood heat from a mere touch of his hand. Who could make her feel safe with his unwanted but all the same appreciated vigilance.

It mattered not that she'd not seen his face.

She knew him. And he was the only man in her acquaintance with whom she could form an equal partnership.

Gabranth and Rjth stepped to flank the young emperor, and the party followed the length of the purple velvet runner across the room, through the stunned and admiring crowd. They met Ashe at the foot of the diaz. Larsa bowed first. Gabranth and Rjth each stepped back to bracket Kilbourne now. The three judge magisters executed a precise, synchronized bow.

It was all very proper.

"Ashelia Dalmasca," Larsa intoned. Though his demeanor was faultlessly formal, his eyes still sparkled with the same friendliness she was accustomed to.

Ashe took comfort in this warmth as she reciprocated his ceremonial tone. "Larsa Solidor," Ashe curtsied.

Larsa cleared his throat. "I come to deliver a petition for your hand in marriage."

Ashe was speechless. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but she was without words, without clear thoughts.

Her court had plenty to say, though. The whispers erupted in frantic rhythm. Hands flitted with anxious gestures.

Larsa continued, ignoring the growing tension around them. "It is a petition that has been presented to me, and it is the only petition that I have chosen to endorse."

The background chatter swelled. Ashe shook her head as she felt a headache come over her.

The master of ceremonies cleared his throat loudly. The talk ceased.

And Ashe wondered what in Ivalice was happening.

Larsa continued his speech, "The petitioner is a man of good birth, fine education, and great distinction. He possesses one of the oldest names in Archadian history, and comes from a line of renowned philosophers and scientists. He himself was educated at Dobbs College, from which he graduated with honors, and winner of the Grimaldi Prize in Engineering. He earned the prestigious Trenton Fellowship to study at the Falvoy Institute of Sciences, where he continued his studies in aeronautics. He completed this academic training by the time he turned sixteen."

Ashe gazed at Kilbourne, feeling betrayal; why had he not warned her that this could happen? She had no idea that Larsa had even been interested in presenting her with a "Solidor-sanctioned" suitor. Surely he had reasons for this, but in her growing ire Ashe could not fathom what they could be.

"He has demonstrated himself an honorable and courageous man. He served three years in Elite Service on Archadia's Air Force, during which he acquired the highest rank of Marshal, an unprecedented feat in such a short time span. He has been awarded the Opal Pinion and the Crystal Cross for his exemplary leadership and heroism during battle."

It was surprising that even Larsa was now swept away in this circus of education, titles, and rank. Ashe had thought she'd met every decorated war hero in Ivalice over the course of the past few months. Where did Larsa find this man, and why had she not heard of him before?

"The Senate unanimously voted to award him the Duchy of Bervenia two years ago."

Why did the title sound familiar to her? Ashe shook her head. They'd been in Bervenia. Her and Kibourne. Had he seen her there? Decided she'd suit?

Or perhaps...was...her heart stopped, excitement arresting her actions. Was...Kilbourne the Duke of Bervenia?

"But most importantly, he is a good and trustworthy friend, with whom I seek counsel almost daily. He retired from the air force two years ago to accept the post of judge magister. And in this capacity he has offered nothing but the most exemplary service with a fair but compassionate hand."

Ashe's gaze flew to the three judge magisters. The only three Larsa currently had, if her reports were correct. Her heart tumbled into her stomach in relief. Only one of those three could have the qualifications Larsa had described.

"He has petitioned to end his service today and submit to you an offer of marriage. I am reluctant to accept his resignation, but I am delighted to endorse his candidacy as suitor." Without hesitation or question, Larsa pronounced his next words deliberately and imperiously. "Ashelia, I would like to present to you my countryman, the Duke of Bervenia, Ffamran Mid Bunansa, the soon-to-be Judge Emeritus Kilbourne."

Ashe shook her head, sure she misheard. _Ffamran Mid Bunansa._ Impossible.

Larsa turned to the line of judges behind him. "Kilbourne, I will receive your resignation now."

Gabranth and Rjth moved to stand next to each other as Kilbourne stepped forward to kneel in front of his emperor. He reached up and pulled his helmet off, and offered it to his Emperor on raised hands.

Larsa accepted the helmet with a gracious smile. "You may rise."

And the man stood, facing the Queen of Dalmasca.

She could do nothing but stare at what was surely a ghost.

A syncopation of surprised gasps erupted in the court.

There he was, the heartbreaker of heartbreakers, the leading man himself.

"Balthier," she said the name breathily.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** My apologies! My new job does not allow for as much time as I'd previously had to write! I am doing my best to get these last few chapters written. In the meantime, thank you for your patience!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own FFXII or these characters.

**A Suitor for Ashe**

**Chapter Eleven**

_Let it never be said that the woman was without her own particular brand of hospitality._

_Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia_

* * *

"Captain Tate," Ashe said, breaking through the barrier of astonishment and confusion in her throat. Her voice was raspy, but the underlying steel brooked no opposition.

Pol stepped forward, confused. "Yes, your highness."

"This man should be placed under arrest," Ashe declared imperiously.

Pol gave an uncertain look in the direction of their...unexpected guest. He had an allegiance to his queen, to be sure. However, it was hard to conceive the notion that _this_ man, this hero, this steadfast champion of the queen, was to meet such a fate.

Around them, the murmurs grew in volume, ineffectually quenched by excited hushes.

Balthier stood before the queen, gaze unwavering from hers, stance soldier-still, and face devoid of expression.

He looked paler, but, she supposed, that made sense, given his spending more than half his days hiding behind a mask. His countenance betrayed no emotion; his former famous charm bore no echo in the stiff clench of his jaw, the thin line of his lips. His eyes were clear of judgment, hesitation, or bravado.

She'd known him twice, but the man who stood before her was a complete stranger.

Ashe did not take her eyes away from his. "T-This man is wanted for six counts of breaking and entering, ten counts of trespassing, and five counts of grand larceny under the warrant 2.34.4. Do not make me repeat my very _reasonable_ request, Captain."

"T-to be sure," Pol nodded, stepping forward.

Larsa turned to his former judge, opening his mouth to speak. Balthier put distance between himself and his emperor, giving an arrogant nod of dismissal.

Pol approached with an air of reluctance. "I am very sorry, your honor," the man uttered quietly.

Balthier gave a curt nod of acknowledgment to the man and submitted himself to custody with quiet dignity. A dignity that was observed and acknowledged by Pol's omission of utilizing restraints.

Balthier continued to gaze at Ashe and spoke clearly. "I hope, your highness, that I may be afforded a private audience to plead my case, and to personally submit to you my proposal of marriage."

She scoffed even as her heart throbbed and stung at his words, his voice, his tone. Though he kept his voice level and emotionless, she felt too much. She could hear too much.

_He sounds like both of them. Him._

Ashe's fingers trembled. Her legs shook. With as much courage as she could muster, she arrogantly and elegantly swept back to take her seat at the throne, once more reclaiming her authority and calm.

The court watched the quiet departure of the arrested man, not without malicious awe, stunned sadness, and complete surprise. Larsa turned back to Ashe, pale with irritation, his lips pressed into a thin white line of barely restrained fury, his hands clenched tightly at his side.

Ashe turned her own heated gaze to his and lifted a challenging brow, guiding her chin subtly towards the taller Viera judge magister who stood behind him. "Is your business here in Dalmasca concluded?"

He opened his mouth to speak. He knew Gabranth and Rjth, no, _Basch_ and _Fran_ would stand behind him, should he argue for Balthier's freedom. Fran shifted away from him and towards the queen, bracing herself for confrontation, and physically distancing herself from her liege, as her former partner had done. Basch stepped with her.

Balthier had quietly warned him that whatever happened after the disclosure, Larsa was to protect the identity of his remaining judge magisters. He was to step back and allow Ashe to take control of the situation, _regardless of how he felt_.

Balthier had known, Larsa inwardly groaned. And he, Larsa, should have known.

He had been arrogant enough to assume that decorative words and eloquent speeches would suddenly render all previous warrants null in void. He had been foolish enough to hope that Ashe's joy at her fallen comrade's return to life would offset her anger at the deception.

Maybe it would have been.

But it had been muddled by the one element he'd not realized until he'd seen her set her gaze on Kilbourne's form: she'd _trusted_ the judge magister. And, perhaps, had started forming a predilection for his company.

She had a _week_ before her wedding. Surely, she had to understand she did not have the time for theatrics--

_"...and promise me that you will stay uninvolved."_

Balthier's last request, repeated with uncharacteristic urgency right before they entered the throne room, bound Larsa to frustrating inaction. "Yes," he replied gruffly. "It is."

"I would welcome an extended stay, were matters not so pressing. However..." she began.

Larsa saw the dismissal, and felt a nerve-wracked split-second of regret that he'd not had the chance to ascertain and quell Penelo's own reaction to his involvement. "I only came with the one piece of business," Larsa said tersely, acknowledging her request of his staying out of her affairs. "We will be gone within the hour."

Ashe nodded upon hearing the exact words she wanted to hear from the Archadian emperor. "Thank you for your visit," she said. It was on the tip of her tongue to politely harangue him for his high-handed dramatics.

Not that, she blushed, putting a dead man walking under arrest was any better.

"I wish you luck in your choice of husband," Larsa bowed. "If I can be of any further assistance, please do not hesitate to ask it of me."

Ashe bowed and acknowledged the offer both of them knew she would never accept.

"It's been a...pleasure," Larsa said, taking a stiff bow and executing a precise turn. His remaining two judges took slow bows before turning themselves. The three Archadian guests exited, looking as if they'd never been more than three.

Once the doors were shut behind them, Ashe turned to Penelo and sent her a desperate look, a questioning look. The pallor of her friend's face indicated that she'd been just as oblivious to the judges' hidden identities.

An ally in ignorance. Penelo's large, watery eyes reflected Ashe's personal turmoil. Ashe felt her own emotions sting at the back of her eyes, tying knots in her throat. "I believe a recess is necessary."

* * *

Ffamran Mid Bunansa, also known as the skypirate "Balthier", spent his first evening back from the dead in the Red Suite in Eastwick Tower.

"It could be worse," he repeated aloud.

"_How_ could it be worse? She had you arrested. Instead of getting married next Monday morning, you'll be standing up at trial. It took all of my persuasive powers to convince her to let me see you. And," Vaan nodded towards the entrance, where their babysitter, Penelo, stood with a stormy, untrusting gaze.

"I could be at Nalbina," Balthier asserted.

Indeed, Eastwick was actually better than he deserved; the outstanding warrant for his arrest had been for quite serious allegations. His imprisonment could and should have been at the stark and stank dungeon, not in the luxuries of Eastwick, which was more a holding cell for political exiles and the rich, titled, and naughty.

Vaan whistled through his teeth. "I would bet ten thousand that Nalbina's crossed her mind. Eastwick is a diplomatic nod towards your status in Archadia; Larsa has done everything but state that he'll wage war if you are convicted."

"I told him to stay out of it," Balthier growled.

Vaan shook his head. "You know as well as I that _nobody_ can tell him what he can and can't do."

Balthier pressed his lips as he pondered the elaborate tapestry on the west wall. "He is a good friend, but a foolish ruler."

"If you're going to say that you actually _deserve_ to be in jail, after all you've done personally to actually _save_ Rabanastre, to _save the world_--"

"She'd never dissolved the warrants, Vaan; she had to uphold the law. And were you not party to my _willful deception_ these past couple of months? Her reaction was just."

Vaan opened his mouth to respond, then turned away. "If you're not going to help yourself..."

"I am addressing the situation as I see fit. And I don't expect you or _anybody_ to step in on my behalf. I _mean_ it," he growled, when Vaan made a disgusted scoff. "_She_ needs to make the next move, or I might as well just visit the gallows on my own."

"I don't like it."

"You don't have to. Believe you me, there are _many_ places I'd rather be," Balthier sighed. "Have you brought my belongings back to Havenhurst?"

"No. I brought them here," Vaan said. At Balthier's glare, Vaan shook his head. "You're moving _here_ after all."

Balthier met Vaan's petulant assertion with silence. "I also submitted an order for the finest tunic and armor that money could buy. So that you'd have something to wear to your wedding. I had no idea that your wardrobe had grown so...anemic."

"It was in storage," Balthier returned.

"You'll look the part of Regent," Vaan said.

"I would have hoped that you'd demonstrate more humility and nerves at this meeting, given your _disgusting_ cooperation with Larsa's plans with _our_ ventures...it appears you've simply embraced Solidor's arrogance and high-handedness."

Vaan scoffed. "_You're_ the fuckwit who'd wanted to jeopardize your future with your dumbass antics," he said bluntly.

Balthier clenched his jaw, conveying his complete refusal to acknowledge the man's remark.

"Is it true, what Fran said? Did you really love her? Do you?"

Balthier made a glance towards the door, wondering just how closely Penelo was listening to the conversation. Vaan's sophomoric staged inquiry was done with good intention, he reminded himself.

"I stayed away, didn't I?" he answered honestly, quietly, turning towards the barred windows. Rain clouds.

Vaan contemplated the answer.

"The visit has gone on for long enough; it would not do to give your guard the impression that we are orchestrating an escape," Balthier said, nodding towards Penelo.

"Fine." Vaan shook his head, getting off his seat and taking up his hat. "Do what you want. I don't think I'll ever understand you," he said.

Balthier put a firm hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I appreciate your friendship."

Vaan gave a small smile, then turned and knocked on the door.

"I don't think _I'll_ ever understand me," Balthier said quietly to himself, as he turned to pen yet another request to the Queen of Dalmasca.

* * *

"...and," Penelo sighed, "_he's_ asked to see you again." She laid the sealed missive on the table, lightly tapping on the crisp paper. "He says it is imperative."

"Imperative? I hardly see how a man in his unique circumstances should have any authority to make such a demand."

"He is demanding it all the same."

"Does he seem...urgent in his demands?"

"No, merely firm."

"Is he angry? Emotional?"

"No."

"How was his visit with Vaan?"

"Vaan was remonstrative, _He_ was unrepentant," Penelo mused.

Ashe accepted the news as she poured two glasses of madeira.

"How was dinner with Kinsey?" Penelo asked, eager to move away from the topic of Balthier, his deception, and the role _all_ their supposedly close friends had played in it.

Ashe smiled tiredly. "Dinner was delicious."

"And Kinsey?"

_Sure of himself, now that his main rivals are locked in disputes of civil unrest or jail._ What a disaster, this husband hunt had turned out to be. "Pleasant," Ashe replied succinctly.

"What did Al-Cid's letter say?" Penelo asked. "I hope he renewed his proposal?"

Ashe took a large gulp of wine.

No, the Rozarrian king had done no such thing. The letter had been short: _I have heard. He is a good man. I respect him greatly._ Reading the between the lines, the message was clear: now that Balthier was making his intentions public, Al-Cid was bowing out.

How the hell did things like this happen? When did Balthier have time to twist Larsa _and_ Al-Cid around his little finger? Why did it seem that everybody in the world knew but her?

"No, he did not," Ashe answered Penelo's question gruffly.

Penelo hissed her reply. "So..."

"So," Ashe said. "I marry Kinsey in three days."

The queen was reticent over her glass of madeira. She'd never been particularly loquacious, so Penelo reluctantly respected the silence and the queen's privacy. The questions seared in her mind, and burned her throat, bursting to get out. She understood Ashe's position, but worried that once the angry haze cleared, it'd be too late.

At length, Ashe smiled at her lady-in-waiting and dismissed her.

Penelo opened her mouth, turned to exit. At the door, she turned back again. "I think...I think you should hear him out," she said.

Ashe left the remark without acknowledgment, but then again, Penelo didn't hold her breath waiting for it.

Left on her own, Ashe prepared herself for bed in blissful solitude. A solitude undisturbed by judging looks, questions, and unsolicited advice. She enjoyed another glass of madeira as she read over the latest trade bill, and spent another half hour drafting the speech she'd give to the Artisan's Guild next sennight.

She found the letter on the table as she got up to go to bed. Carelessly, she took it up and threw it on the fire on her way into the bedroom, and did not bother to watch it burn.

Her eyes could barely keep themselves open as she readied herself for bed. The day had been long, and the trade bill had been written by Harrison, possibly the most boring writer on the planet. Settling back in her soft bed, she smiled, happy to fall into the arms of Sleep.

* * *

"Bunansa."

Balthier shook himself out of his slumber, wincing at the sharp pain in his neck; he'd fallen asleep in his armchair again.

He pushed himself out of his seat slowly and made his way to the door of his suite, consulting the clock on the mantle. 3:00 a.m.

"Yes," he said, voice slow and rough in the quiet night air. When he set eyes on the open door, sleep was forgotten. "Captain Tate," he said in surprise.

"You have five minutes to prepare yourself for a visitor," the guard said.

And, knowing the guard, Balthier quickly ascertained just who his visitor would be. He hurriedly threw water on his face, and lamented that he did not have enough time to shave. His garments were wrinkled; he quickly changed.

He was at the door, neatly dressed, precisely five minutes after the announcement.

Pol stepped in first. "Her majesty, Queen Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca," he announced.

She was wrapped up in a patterned old robe many sizes too large; her father's, perhaps? Even in such worn garments, she still appeared the most regal, most elegant woman he'd ever had the pleasure of setting his eyes upon. "Your majesty," he said, executing a deep, eloquent bow.

"Bunansa," she replied brusquely.

"I am honored with your presence, and grateful that you have consented to this meeting."

"Speak quickly. You have five minutes."

He did not argue with her proclamation, did not remark on her petulant attitude. He simply started on the speech he'd been mentally rehearsing since his imprisonment. "Your majesty, I have requested to see you because I feel it is necessary to apologize. And make a formal offer of marriage."

She did not signal for him to proceed, but she did not laugh and refuse immediately. He continued.

"I apologize for the indignity and scandal that I have brought to your court; had there been any other way to present my suit I would have infinitely preferred it. However, given my unusual situation, I felt it imperative that my proposal be offered from an intermediary known intimately by the both of us. I admit that I was apprehensive that the sincerity of my proposal might have been called into question," he swallowed, "if you'd known at the first that it was _I_ who was petitioning."

"So you deceived me to convince me that you were earnest?" Ashe inquired, brow raised in a disdainful curl.

Balthier swallowed. "Yes, I did."

This was not the confession she'd been anticipating. The questions were loud and clear in her mind, so loud she thought he could hear them: _Why didn't you tell me who you were? Why did you feel it was necessary to hide from me for five years? Why does this hurt?_ "Why?" The word burst past her dry throat, heavy with unwanted emotion. She pressed her lips tightly, lest more foolishness escape.

Balthier clenched his fist, getting up off his chair and moving towards the barred window. He continued, pretending that he did not hear her question. "Yesterday's dramatics aside, I _am_ prepared to act as Regent. While you have regrettably little proof of my aptitude, I'd like to reassure you that I will do my best to be above reproach, a model citizen and a supportive husband."

He turned back to watch her from across the room, careful not to presume any sort of impolite intimacy.

"Please do me the honor of serving you, and the people of this country that I have come to admire."

He made no move to close the distance, his voice betrayed no emotion.

Ashe watched him with caution and confusion. And, without anything to say, she moved towards the door.

"Thank you for your time, your highness," his words were politely uttered.

She wanted to take them and throw them back at his head.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

Again, I am very sorry for the delays.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Final Fantasy XII, or these characters.

**A Suitor for Ashe**

**Chapter Twelve**

_Trust in friends to come along and complicate everything.  
__~Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia_

* * *

"Aww Penny..."

She folded her shoulders and arms into herself, shrugging off the imploring arm. "Don't 'Penny' me!" Her scowl was dark, bitter; in all their years of friendship, he'd never been so uncertain of his welcome. "I'm not here to be 'Penny'-ed into cooperation. You said they'd be here."

Her lips were pressed so tightly the seam was white with irritation. She assessed her comrade at the bar carefully, her gaze not without a bit of threat.

"And you, more than anyone, should know that Vaan will always do his utmost to keep his word."

Vaan smiled in relief as his salvation arrived in the form of the tall couple who now approached their corner table of the tavern.

From the time she'd agreed to the meeting, Penelo had wondered what she'd feel, what she'd do at this moment. She'd _been in Archadia_ with them, all of them, and they'd played her for the fool. She'd blushed as she'd recalled how pathetically eager she'd been to form a friendship with this disguised Fran. And she dwelled the most on the insensitivity of them all: Balthier, Fran, Basch, and Larsa, for all knowing the truth and not thinking to tell them. Tell Ashe, tell her. As if the two of them weren't important. Wouldn't care.

But seeing the judge magisters take their seats at this table, without armor, without masks...her heart ached with joy.

She clenched her fists together. "_You_ two married?" she said gruffly.

"A modestly small ceremony. Kil--Balthier officiated, and Larsa witnessed the union," Basch explained.

"And...why?"

"It's kind of quaint, but true: I believe they fell in love," Vaan replied glibly.

Penelo glared, and Vaan winced as he reminded himself that she was not ready to be teased; their trust had been damaged.

"Why the deception?" The words were rough on her throat, and she tried to hide the hurt she'd felt every time she'd thought of them all.

She'd wanted to be as insensitive to them as they'd been to her.

But Penelo Everling was never known for stoicism, and her quivering lips had the normally distant Viera reaching forward to clasp the young woman's hand.

"That, milady, is a difficult question to answer," Basch said quietly.

"One to which we ourselves do not necessarily know the full answer," Fran said.

Penelo frowned, annoyed that her friends would continue to plague her with their mystery. Ascertaining that Penelo did not look ready to accept Fran's answer, Basch cleared his throat, pressing on. "As much as we truly desire to satisfy your curiosity, I am afraid our time is short; it would not do for it to be discovered that we have come here in spite of Queen Ashelia's edicts. Let it stand that it is a gross understatement for us to say that we are glad to be seeing you without deception."

"I am glad of our reunion as well," Penelo replied succinctly, grudgingly. "Though I confess I would have preferred that it had been earlier, less complicated, and under more joyous circumstances."

"But what could be more joyous than a wedding?" Basch replied companionably.

The remark was left unaddressed, for good reason.

"We are here to ask a boon of you. A rather considerable one," Fran said.

Penelo raised a brow. "Pertaining to the imprisonment of a certain pirate who pretended to be a judge magister?"

"Far be it for me to contradict a lady, but I must assert here that Balthier did not pretend. He was an excellent judge magister; I don't think I know of anyone who cared more for his job than he did," Basch defended his friend.

"How commendable," Penelo replied cynically. "Forgive me if I find the prospect of a man who acted above the law to uphold it more than a little ironic. I won't aid in his escape."

"He wouldn't countenance such tactics, not now, anyway," Basch replied. "And he shouldn't _have_ to escape at all, which you very well know."

"He didn't contest the arrest." "No, he did not. And that's why we need you," Vaan said.

"What do you mean?"

"He goes up for trial the day after tomorrow. And he has demonstrated no desire whatsoever to defend himself," Basch explained. "He has refused to accept any of the legal services or counsel that Larsa has sent."

"It is presumed that he will be representing himself," Fran examined her nails.

"And you don't think he will argue for his freedom and win it?" Penelo asked incredulously.

"I know that he will not," Basch replied matter of factly.

"He's a different man now," Vaan interjected before Penelo could voice her doubts.

"I understand that and that is just the problem. You are asking that I help a man whom you admit I do not know at all. You, who have been willing participants in his deceit! How am I to blindly take your word now?"

"We would not ask for your assistance if we had time, but we don't. And Penny, you've _seen_ him. You _know_. You couldn't stop watching him when I was visiting, you were trying so hard to figure him out."

"I was told to watch him. And you."

"...because you didn't trust us. I get it. But," Vaan sighed, pulling a hand through his hair in frustration.

"We understand your doubts," Fran said quietly. "We understand your mistrust. We would not be here if we had been able to contemplate a different strategy. This is the best way, this is the only way."

"And it is his due," Basch asserted.

Penelo scoffed.

"More than half the charges on his head levied against him were due to _her highness's_ request that he kidnap her."

"And the other half, before he got caught up with Ashe, and us?"

"I think he's punished himself enough for that," Fran said stiffly.

The pity in the Viera's voice made Penelo's heart sting. Penelo had heard Fran call her former partner many things, and had heard her speak of him in many ways, but never with pity. Penelo sighed. "Would it be so bad if he went up to trial? The Hearing Committee is well aware of his accomplishments."

"He is unwilling to make his own defense, and regardless of his accomplishments, you are right that, in the eyes of the law, he is guilty for those crimes. A pardon would not undo those crimes, but simply dismiss them," Basch explained.

"Not to mention the fact that the committee is headed by Carlton Roth," Vaan winced. "Perhaps you may remember him; he's the one that had a 4,000,000 gil bounty on Balthier's head, after Balthier made off with Roth's prized Nethicite Scepter seven years ago."

Penelo sighed, shaking her head. "It's just too fast. And too much. And in some cases, not enough at all."

"Penelo, there are only two ways to obtain pardons, and you have the access to both. Talk to Ashe. Or talk to Parliament. Make them understand. Please," Basch said.

"He goes up for trial the day after tomorrow! And tomorrow's Sunday! Parliament does not meet on Sunday," she stated, making it clear by her omission that arguing with Ashe was not an option.

"We didn't think it was going to be easy," Vaan sighed. "But if you'd agreed to meet with us two days ago, as we'd asked..." At Penelo's growl he shrugged. "But of course, you were justified in ignoring us," he said smoothly.

They looked so damn nervous. And miserable.

And _he'd_ looked...distant. Cold.

"I...I need to think this through," Penelo said, weakly.

Vaan looked ready to argue, but Fran put a hand to the young man's arm. "That is fine," Fran said. "We must return."

"We have placed you in a tight spot, I know," Basch said. "We are grateful that you are considering our proposition at all." The couple got up off their seats.

Penelo watched them, trying to understand, trying to see truth. These _were_ her comrades, weren't they?

Fran reached into her traveling cloak and from it withdrew a letter. "Our emperor has commissioned us to deliver this to you."

"To me?" The young woman fingered the precisely creased missive in her hands.

"To you," Basch said. "Take care, Penelo." With a fond kiss on her forehead, the Judge made his gracious adieu.

Fran reassuringly clasped Penelo's hand. "We make a case for our friend, but you are our friend as well. We are sorry to place you in this situation, and will respect whatever decision you make."

"Uh, sorry, Penny," Vaan said, uncomfortable and uncertain.

The man looked confused; Penelo was never good at staying mad at him. "I...I don't think it was right, but..." she hugged him.

Hs hugged her back tightly. "Thanks," he said simply into her blond curls.

"Safe travels," Penelo said quietly. "T-tell Larsa that I said hello."

* * *

"...and the man himself has made no indication that he even needs or desires a pardon."

"He is far too honorable for that," Penelo said, hoping, rather than knowing it was true.

What had she gotten into?

She'd gone with her heart, and that had been her downfall. She did not know political arguments; logic and reason eluded her. She could do nothing but defend with sentiments and ideals, not to mention a gross exaggeration of character.

She'd been wholly unprepared for this; she'd known that, and she'd done it just the same.

It just went to show that some things never changed; she never had been known for an encyclopedic knowledge of precedents, decisions, and bills; she'd only been known for her honest and earnest voice.

"...And where is Her Majesty in all this? I would have thought that she would be the one to consider the matter more, as she is the one who is better acquainted with Bunansa's character," M.P. Isle argued.

"But surely you understand how autocratic it would appear, pardoning my own fianc é so that I can marry him." The words were smoothly, even genially delivered, but the contrived civility did not disguise the hardened resolved underneath.

Penelo was ready to faint as she turned to see the Queen standing at the door.

_Caught in the act._

The queen never looked so regal as she did now. Pale fury accentuated her delicate features as effectively as the frothy, frosty voluminous skirts of her gown. The clean, stark lines of the wedding dress should have softened her features, not to mention make her look out of place, but the queen was formidable, frosty, and not to be trifled with.

"Your--your highness," Prime Minister Garrett stammered.

The members of Parliament stumbled out of their seats to take awkward bows. Ashe met the gazes of each one in turn, avoiding only Penelo's. "Correct me if I am wrong, but from what I have heard thus far, I understand that you are about to _deny_ the pardon that would allow for the marriage that _you_ forced me to enter into."

"Marriage? But..." M.P. Moss started.

"Yes?" Ashe raised an imperial brow.

"Well, had we known..."

"My friend thought that my intended's merits would be enough to secure his freedom. I foolishly thought so as well," Ashe said, meeting Moss's eye. "He will undoubtedly feel insulted that I have had to step in and inform you of our situation. I am ashamed to think that my own people, whose fate rested upon his own shoulders, whose livelihoods he'd sacrificed his own for, would be so ungrateful."

"To be sure, he's a good man."

"He is the best of men. And the only one I could be prevailed upon to marry."

"Perhaps you may want to reconsider..."

"Reconsider my match?" "We fear that he is not to be trusted."

"Not to be trusted? Have we forgotten his faithful service to me as bodyguard and confidante? Have we forgotten the fact that he _saved my life_ in Rozarria, when I was far from home and surrounded by strangers? And have we forgotten that regardless of his guise, I have known, honored, and respected him for these six years?"

"Regardless of how much _you_ respect him, you may want to bear in mind that we have alliances with other nations that might look down upon the union," M.P. Davies asserted.

"Nations like Bhujerba, where Bunansa has twice built a strong and healthy relationship with my Uncle Marquis Ondore? Or Archades, where he's faithfully served the Empire and Emperor these past five years? Or perhaps you mean Rozarria, from where I received a letter from Al-Cid Margrace himself, voicing his enthusiastic approval of the match? Tell me, ladies and gentlemen, which nations would ever frown upon this union?"

"Your own, your highness," M.P. Graves replied smoothly.

Ashe eyed the old woman carefully. Phelicia Graves, or as she liked to remind everybody, Baroness Ghent, never liked Ashe's upstart, modern ways, preferring the steadfast adherence to mores and traditions, however outdated they were.

Of course.

Ashe replied clearly. "We would not be here in this palace today had it not been for his heroism five years ago. Since coming into my service, Bunansa has given me exemplary advice. He has been a trustworthy, impartial party to all my decisions. I had not even known of his intentions until his formal proposal, as he had _never_ abused our close circumstance to press his own suit." No, indeed, he'd made no indication of his desires whatsoever. Ashe flushed with recollection over the insipid way she'd flirted with him, only to be met with denial, diffidence.

Had he been laughing at her, the desperate princess? And what did he mean now?

Ashe shook her head, putting her full effort into keeping her voice resolute. "I am going to marry Bunansa tomorrow. While I do not _need_ your approval for the match, it would be perceived as a gracious gesture for Parliament to grant his pardon so that our union will be given its due dignity and significance."

Her declaration was met with silence. At length, M.P. Graves retorted with pettiness. "...And is that the dress you were planning to wear tomorrow?" she inquired, mockingly.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Ashe replied smoothly. "Do you need to make your opinions over _this_ known as well?"

Nobody replied, though Graves did look like she would have liked the opportunity to pontificate over the dangers of overusing satin and neglecting lace. Ashe regally nodded her dismissal. "Well, then. Now if you'll pardon me, I will leave you to your decision. My modiste is undoubtedly wondering where I have disappeared off to, and, as we all know, we do not have much time until the wedding tomorrow."

And without a glance at Penelo, Ashe elegantly and masterfully swept her voluminous skirts around her as she executed a precise turn and flounced out of the room.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer**: I do not own these characters or Final Fantasy XII.

**A Suitor for Ashe**

**Chapter Thirteen**

_The decisions proclaimed, the preparations finished, there was nothing to do but to lie in the made bed, and hope for the best._

_~Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia_

* * *

"Bunan-"

"I can announce myself."

He was at the window, sitting at the desk and looking very important indeed. In this joke of a prison, looking quite the elegant scion of Archadia in his immaculate finery, Balthier seemed less a prisoner more a foreign dignitary, seeing to his correspondence at a leisurely pace on a sunny Sunday afternoon. At her entrance, he merely raised a brow, unhurriedly pulled off his spectacles, pushed back his chair to stand, and bowed deeply.

He could have at least stumbled off his seat and looked nervous. Ashe was thoroughly disgusted with herself. How did she end up here?

_He is the best of men. And the only man I could be prevailed upon to marry._

Her heart pounded at her words, her hands felt unsteady, clammy. She hid them in the folds of her cool smooth satin skirts.

_It is bad fortune for the groom to see his bride in her gown before the wedding processional, you know..._

She could remember a similar meeting, many years ago. Rasler had snuck into her chambers to see her during her last fitting. She'd teased him with the schoolgirl superstition even as she'd enthusiastically kissed him in greeting.

A grief she'd already laid to rest made one last parting clasp. So long ago. She'd been a girl then.

Ashe shook her head. She wasn't _too old_ for such whimsical naïve fancies now; she was more mature. She unfolded her clenched fists and extended her hand to the man before her.

"Your majesty," Balthier said, taking the cold hand to his lips, bestowing upon it a quick, chaste kiss. "You look beautiful."

Ashe opened her mouth, voice husky, bitter words formed on her lips. _You win._ He touched her, he. Balthier. Kilbourne. Confusion and memory held her in thrall as she said instead, "It is bad fortune for the groom to see his bride in her gown before the wedding processional."

He cleared his throat, stepping back. "Then it should not be a problem, unless, of course, it is I who is your chosen partner. In which case, well, I suppose we are gamblers."

Ashe stepped away from him, considering the view from his window. In the afternoon sun, the sand was so bright that her vision went dark. She turned away from the glare, sinking into an overstuffed velvet chair, letting her eyes slowly adjust back to her darker surroundings, letting her mind adjust to the momentous decision she'd just made.

"And still you pretend," she began tiredly. "You know very well that you left me with little choice," she said. "You can gloat now, Bunansa, you win."

Balthier retook his seat. "And...how did I do that?"

Ashe shook her head in cynical disbelief as she placed her hand on the desk to push herself up out of the chair. "I can't believe we're having this conversation. I will humor you no more. Be prompt--"

"Your highness," he interrupted with an entreating hand to hers. "Please, I entreat you to understand that I am not feigning my ignorance. If there has been any sort of _machination_ that would result in your feeling coerced to accept my proposal, it is imperative that we identify the perpetrators and evaluate their motives."

"...and identify if their interference should be anticipated in future," Ashe completed glumly. She pulled her hand away from his, hoping he had not felt her skittery pulse. Examining Balthier's pinched features, the fact that the man was truly at a complete loss was just starting to sink in. "So you haven't spoken with Penelo? At all?"

"Penelo?" he asked. "No, the only time I've seen her since my petition was presented was when she'd accompanied Vaan on his visit. How is she involved?"

"She'd somehow managed to assemble an emergency session of Parliament today, all to beg for a pardon on your behalf."

"My behalf?" he asked, pushing himself back out of the chair.

"I had desired her counsel, so I had asked that she join me while I was having my fitting today. Nobody could find her. I was later informed that she was in Parliament, which was quite a shock to me. I found her in the Hall of Ministers, making a not so convincing case for your Parliamentary pardon," she related the tale, keeping a critical gaze on the man before her.

Balthier strode to the window, looked out. "Did she give any reason why she thought I ought to have one?"

"As you can probably guess, her reasoning was more emotional than rational," Ashe sighed. "I believe she felt nervous about the outcome of your trial tomorrow morning."

Balthier clenched his jaw. "Generous, but foolish. Is that the reason she gave?"

"Clearly, she did not present the case thus. That's merely my interpretation. _She_ made arguments about heroics and reciprocity."

"Which were likely not very well received."

"They were _bullying_ her."

"So _you_ intervened and decided to say that the reason she was asking for a Parliamentary pardon was because we hoped to marry with their approval." Balthier shook his head as he repeated his words. "Generous, but foolish."

The heat rushed to Ashe's cheeks to hear him speak of her actions so casually, so remonstratively, as if she'd been an impulsive child.

She wasn't. While her actions had been quick, her _heart_ was not so mercurial. In that exact moment, however hurt she'd been, however confused she'd felt, she'd _known_ that, still, she could _not_ enter into matrimony with anybody else.

There was only him.

_The only man I could be prevailed upon to marry._

Such insipid drivel would be kept to herself, though. No, she would not burden him with awkward overtures, or demands for contrived returned affection.

He clearly sought a more rational explanation, so she strove to impart one. "Her intervention, while still quite presumptuous, was actually quite fortunate. I was readying myself to accept your proposal, and dreaded the public reaction were I to pardon you myself."

Balthier pursed his lips, considering her words carefully. "So you are accepting my proposal entirely of your own volition?"

"Yes, I am," she calmly replied.

He knelt at her skirts, taking her hand in his large ones. "I am honored, your majesty."

She could not speak. She felt tears, and she did not know why. Forcing them back, she gave a small smile. "You used to call me Ashe," she said.

"I used to call you many things," he said ruefully. "And you have known me in too many guises. We know each other too well."

_In some respects, perhaps. But in others, I don't know you at all._ Who was this man before her? Ffamran Mid Bunansa, a cynical, lonely, brilliant child? Balthier, a rebellious, arrogant sky pirate? Or Kilbourne, an intelligent, private, loyal man?

She _knew_ him. Even as the facts argued against it, she knew. She trusted him.

And that, she reassured herself, was all she needed to know for now. In time, perhaps he'd tell her why he'd deceived her. In time, perhaps he'd come to...esteem her. Even love her.

"Perhaps we do," she replied shakily. "But I think that more an asset than a complication."

At length, he replied. "I concur."

Ashe pushed herself up out of her seat. "I must go back to my fitting. I suppose they will let us know if--"

"--_when_ they approve the pardon," Balthier said reassuringly. "After haranguing you into choosing a husband, they would be idiots to deny you your choice of suitor. Rest easy...Ashelia."

"A--all right, Balthier."

* * *

"Oh, no need for formalities, I know the way!"

Balthier paused in his morning ablutions to scowl at the door. The predicted pardon had been delivered to him late into the previous evening. Upon discovering that he'd been absolved of his crimes, he'd spent the night in meditation, reflection, and overrationalization.

He'd anticipated carrying on thus this morning.

In solitude.

But, he supposed, with the so-called friends he had, interference and interruption were to be expected.

"If that's your parade face, I think you've got a long way to go..." Vaan swept his hat off in greeting, grin splitting his face.

"No, this is my 'you idiot, I told you to stay out of my business' face," Balthier said, taking up a towel to pat his face dry.

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? I mean that you should not have pestered Penelo into petitioning for a pardon."

Vaan's grimace confirmed the suspicion that Balthier had settled upon within the first ten minutes of Ashe's visit.

"Do you know to what treatment she was subjected by Parliament? Belittled, bullied? If Ashe hadn't stepped in, she would have been laughed out of there. What were you thinking?"

"Not all of us can think everything through like you, okay?" Vaan said. "Is she all right?"

"I don't know," Balthier said. "But if I'd just incurred Parliament's ridicule and Ashe's anger, I'd be feeling pretty lonely."

Vaan paled visibly. "Ridicule?"

"She went in there with nothing but that bleeding heart of hers. No facts, no rationale, just what's 'fair'."

"Look, we didn't think she'd have to--"

"_We_?" Balthier buried his face in the towel again. "Oh Vaan, please don't tell me what I think you're about to tell me. Did, perchance, Fran and Basch join you in this exercise in peer pressure?"

When Vaan didn't reply, he had his answer.

"_Another_ two less people to wish a happy Gods Day to come the year's end," Balthier muttered, throwing aside the towel and reaching into his wardrobe.

"We didn't _pressure_ her. And she got some good barbs in, too. Directed at us _and_ you."

"Good, she had the right to them," Balthier said, shrugging on a silk blouse.

"We may have mentioned going to Parliament for the pardon, but only to imply to her how much easier it would be to speak with Ashe. I mean, seriously, given the options of facing a friend, or a panel of pompous asshats--"

"Those _asshats_ are going to be my colleagues, Vaan. And possibly the only way you'll get back in here after I finish waiting for the ink to dry on the paperwork for your banishment," Balthier reprimanded as he walked towards his ceremonial armor, in the corner of the suite.

Vaan shook his head. "You weren't doing _anything_, Balthier. At that point, you could have just walked straight into Nalbina and locked yourself in."

"And it would have been just."

Vaan clenched his fist. "Not this again."

"Yes, again." Balthier took up the polished cuirass, examining the surface. Well-crafted. He considered the man reflected in the metal. "Nothing can eradicate what has been done. Try as I may, I will never be without faults, without my history. I am the person I am."

"And we never expected you to be otherwise. _Our_ acceptance is not the issue."

Balthier scowled. Vaan waited him out, but the older man remained stiffly silent. At length, Vaan sighed, picking a quill up off the desk and playing with it. "Maybe we couldn't expect the ruse to last forever, but we'd hoped that all the good you've done in the interim would have made reparations for the past. A not entirely wicked past, I might add. You never _killed_ anybody. Well, not before the war."

"The so-called 'good' that I have accomplished has been in the guise of one who would uphold the law and devote due respect to it."

"The way you did when you asked for me to continue your 'searches'?" Vaan returned.

"I had my reasons at the time. Admittedly, things changed. I was...fortunate," Balthier said tersely.

It was the closest he'd come to acknowledging that Larsa and Vaan's clandestine arrangement had been helpful. "Just...don't sabotage yourself anymore. We won't be around to protect you."

"Sage advice."

Balthier turned to the door, frowned at his new guests, then muttered as he set the armor back down. "I don't have time for this."

"You do. And we're serious," Fran said as she entered.

"We've all of us been renegades before," Basch said, closing the door behind them and undoing his helmet. "It hasn't stopped us from seeking happiness. So seek it."

"You have a lot of gumption to be here right now," Balthier said.

"Or maybe we just care about you," Basch said.

Fran set her helmet aside and approached the ex-sky pirate, her partner, the Judge Emeritus, her friend. Cupping his face in her palm, she said softly. "We don't have to run anymore. It's time to let yourself be found."

"Profound," Balthier said, moving away from the Viera's disturbingly honest gaze. Stepping away from her, he moved back to the armor, recommencing his inspection.

"Why do we even bother?" Vaan sighed.

"My sentiments exactly," Balthier replied. "Now perhaps it'd be in your best interest to visit with the queen, demonstrate appropriate repentance, and inquire after her feelings."

"You needn't have even suggested it. We were on our way," Basch said. "Come along. I suppose we should be ready to grovel."

"I would insert a few reassurances that _trickery_ was never the intention."

"We shouldn't even _have_ to grovel. Had we just--" Vaan began.

"Thank you for stating the obvious. Now be off with you."

"Wedding jitters," Basch dismissed the terse remark with a good-natured laugh and a companionable pat on the back. "Now that we've ensured that you are well, we'll move on to see Ashe; we have an appointment in the next quarter hour or so."

"Larsa will visit with you within the hour," Fran replied, taking up her helmet. "Be happy, Balthier. The Gods are with you today."

Balthier gave a small nod of acknowledgment as he turned back to the armor. "Make sure she's well."

* * *

". . . in the name of the Father, and in the presence of these Holy Relics. . . I hereby pronounce you man and wife from this time forth. May the blessings of the Gods light your path for all eternity, Faram."

Sincerely hoping that this attempt at "eternity" would be, well, longer than her last, Ashe gave a nervous smile to her husband, the elegantly handsome man who'd promptly shown up for the processional, graciously smiled and waved through the wedding parade through the streets of Rabanastre, and maintained eye contact with her in an appropriately serious but serene manner throughout their vows.

The smile he gave in return did not reach his eyes. She wondered that she'd never noticed before: none of his smiles, ever, had reached his eyes. She felt her heart lurch once more with misgivings as he took her shaking hands in his own frozen grip.

He saw her doubt; he could read her so well. All she could see was that his expression grew more guarded, even as it grew more resolute.

He was going to seal their vows with a kiss now. Ashe bit the inside of her lip as he bent his head down, aware of her roiling emotions. Yearning for his touch. Fear lest her kiss reveal too much. Frustration that such an intimate step in their relationship would be so public. Curiosity.

How would he kiss? Would he dramatically sweep her into his arms for showman's sake? What would he taste like? He blocked the view of the wedding guests, and pressed a long, but disappointingly chaste kiss at the corner of her mouth.

The other kind of showman's kiss. Before she could realize he'd kissed her, he stepped back and gave a polite wave as the guests erupted in applause.

Ashe plastered an overjoyed smile on her face as she waved to her guests, her people. _Look at the wonderful man I have married. I am sure you will love him and respect him as I do._

Still holding her hand, Balthier escorted her down the steps, taking care not to step on the skirts of her long gown. He walked at a sedate pace, a similarly pleasant expression upon his face.

The guests looked excited, delighted. She even saw a few MPs with respectful smiles. The Prime Minister reached into the aisle to enthusiastically shake Balthier's hand, which Balthier took happily, as if they'd always been friends. As if the man hadn't been part of a panel that had nearly put him in prison.

Just as he smiled at her as if she'd never had him arrested in the first place.

Each step down the long aisle back out of the cathedral seemed to take forever. And when they exited to the bright sunlight, the cheering crowds, the falling rose petals, the parade, the banners, she felt the joy of others blind her, overwhelm her, exhaust her.

Balthier put his other arm around her waist in support. "Are you all right?" he murmured the question.

Ashe surreptitiously stepped away from his protective half embrace as she lifted her arm to wave again. "Of course."

He stayed close to her, so she knew he didn't believe her.

"Throw the coins! Throw the coins!" The citizens chanted as the newly married couple took their places in the open carriage.

From his armor, Balthier withdrew a purple velvet pouch. She didn't know why it still surprised her when he demonstrated such insight into her culture, such foresight into the situation. Had he not proven himself, time and time again, as both Balthier _and_ Kilbourne? Still, it moved her deeply as he gave a rueful grin to the crowd, opened the pouch, and turned to gather her closer.

He spoke to the crowd, "In my country, it is customary for the bride to toss the coins."

It was for show, the way he slowly shook the coins out of the pouch, and wrapped her hands around the shiny gold pieces. The way he took her fist up to his mouth and bestowed upon it another quick kiss. Even the wink seemed contrived.

Still, Ashe fell in line with his performance, and gave a smile as she pulled her arm back, and gasped with delight as the pieces danced in the air and sunlight and jingled as they hit the stone pavement.

She beamed and grinned as the carriage was pulled back towards the castle. In their receiving line, she accepted felicitations, both sincere and insincere, with a gracious smile. During the extravagant wedding dinner she ate but did not taste, she blushed appropriately at the jokes of the wedding night, though she'd already blushed over them before, many years ago.

Her throat itched from dehydration and her prolonged effusions of gratitude. Her head was aching from her tightly pinned veil, tiara, and feathers. And her dress was getting heavy.

Nevertheless, she made every effort to enjoy her wedding, and show it, too. She danced with her husband, her expression rapt to match his. She lingered by his side, always touching his hand with hers. It was a good day; she was married, happily so, to a hero, a "reformed pirate". The people of Rabanastre were reassured that their queen was well taken care of, and well loved. There would be an heir.

An heir.

Ashe mentally stumbled over the words. However tired she felt, her evening preparations were slow. She lingered over the hair pins, taking them down one at a time, recording a memory, a feeling of the day with each one.

She'd been nervous when she'd married Rasler, too. It had been thrilling, though. Thrilling to be amongst the people, thrilling to see his admiring eye when he'd first looked upon her that afternoon. Thrilling to feel his kiss, to feel his every touch.

Today's proceedings held their own type of engrossing, intense feelings. Relief, primarily: relief that the pardon had been obtained, that she'd met her deadline, and that Balthier had shown up on time. Disappointment when he'd given her that unromantic kiss at the altar that likely even the priest had found puritanical. Comfort when he'd squeezed her hand in reassurance even though he had been in conversation with someone else. Shyness, and, yes, curiosity whenever people had mentioned the wedding night.

Ashe took up the brush and pulled it through the now unbound hair.

But underneath it all, she felt happiness that on this second trip down the aisle, she'd gotten to choose...and that she'd chosen Balthier. And, now, having accomplished this feat, she felt apprehension: how were they to carry on?

"I thought you might want some water."

Ashe nearly jumped out of her skin at the interruption and turned bashfully towards her husband, who stood at her door with two crystal goblets. "Thank you. How thoughtful of you," she replied, taking his offering.

"It's a nice evening," he said, gesturing towards the open doors to her balcony.

"The loveliest," Ashe said quietly, touching her goblet to his, letting the meeting of crystal sing through the air, before touching the cool, wet rim with her dried lips.

In silent compliance, they moved to the balcony. Of course they did: he'd spent many evenings, as Kilbourne, advising her, guarding her there as she stood and gazed up at the stars, towards the horizon. Towards the Bahamut.

He did not press her for conversation, but stepped closer to her. He did not seem as invulnerable now, without his armor. She wanted to tell him that he no longer needed to shield her, but she understood that he would never consider that duty to be over.

It was the first time since he'd come back that he was without armor in her presence. She examined him out of the corner of her eye: a silk dressing robe in rich emerald green misleadingly bespoke a life of indolence and luxury. It was stretched across a broad frame, broader than she remembered. The lines of his face had deepened, matured.

She felt the flush of an embarrassing physical attraction towards him.

At length, they started chatting. They highlighted conversations, both enlightening and completely useless. Ashe told him of her awkward audience with Basch, Fran, and Vaan, and he summarized his own visit. They chatted until they could no longer stand, and moved to the wrought-iron table and chairs. Slow chatter, easy chatter about everything and nothing at the same time. Familiar chatter.

The night air chilled and grew windy, and they moved towards the bedroom. Ashe turned to him, heart in her throat, hoping that it had not made it all the way up into her eyes. Her body hummed with anticipation, her skin itched for his touch. "So..."

"For appearance's sake, it would be prudent for us to cohabitate for the interim," he suggested, taking the situation in hand. "Perhaps, in another month or so, we can reevaluate the situation..."

"That sounds fine," she said, trying to keep the breathy quality out of her voice. Her robe and nightgown felt soft and rough against her skin at the same time. Her throat was dry again, and she only hoped that in the dim lantern light, her flush was not obvious. She toyed with the loose knot at her waist. "So...uh..." he said, putting a hand to her elbow, and stepping closer to her.

He bent forward, Ashe let her eyelids drift close as her heart, her body cried out "_Finally!_"

He placed a short chaste kiss at the corner of her mouth, and murmured, exhaustion and sleepiness abrading his low voice, "Good night, Ashe."

Ashe opened her eyes to watch her husband walk around the bed, take off his robe to reveal his pyjamas, pull the covers down on his side, get in, and close his eyes.

She mirrored his actions slowly, eyeing him carefully, confusedly.

As she reached to extinguish the lantern at the side of her bed, she heard his breath deepen and fall into the slow rhythm of sleep.

She tucked herself in facing away from him, trying to feel relief, _not_ disappointment, as the deep breaths transformed into snoring.

She was tired, anyway.

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

This is the penultimate chapter. TRULY TRULY sorry it's taken me so long.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own FF XII or these characters.

* * *

**A Suitor for Ashe** **Chapter Fourteen**

_The merging of two lives can be quite messy, not to mention exhausting. Such an endeavour should never be lightly attempted. Nothing but the deepest love or the strongest determination will pull everything through._ _~Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia_

* * *

"And how much time do we have?" Ashe asked, turning to Diena.

"You are scheduled to meet your husband in another half hour. It would be wise to finish this session as soon as possible so that you might prepare for tonight's opera," the lady-in-waiting replied.

Ashe bit the inside of her lip as she contemplated the situation. Had she not been married, she knew exactly what she would have done; she would have remained here for an additional half hour, taken a closed carriage and hastily changed in the vehicle.

However, she'd made it clear to her husband that tardiness was an intolerable offense, and could not be perceived as a hypocrite.

Ashe sighed, turning to the minister of finance. "My apologies, Langley. I am afraid we must finish within the next five minutes. Might we focus on the most important points, and continue our discussion tomorrow morning?"

The minister winced; she internally winced in agreement. However, she would not yield; such, she observed cynically, were the costs of marriage.

The minister was efficient with his deadline; within seven minutes, he was gone, and Ashe was back in the suite of rooms she shared with her husband.

Her absent husband.

She was honest enough to concede disappointment when she entered the suite and felt the cool of his absence. And had this occurred a mere three weeks ago, she might have worried at his absence, and worried over his punctuality.

However, she'd be daft if she did so now; if the first three weeks of married life had taught her anything, it was that she ought to have complete faith in her husband. He was always punctual, prepared, poised: in a word, perfect.

She could not explain why this perfection frustrated her so.

Exactly twenty-one minutes later, she stood before her mirror, cursing the awkward angle of the clasp of her bracelet.

"Diena?" she called.

"My apologies; I dismissed Lady Watkins so that she may make her own preparations for this evening. Might I be of service in her stead?"

At the sound of her husband's voice, the clasp slipped out of her tenuous hold and clattered back onto the vanity. She hissed her frustration as sweat broke out on her brow. She blamed the lingering steam and heat of her bath.

Disappointment when he wasn't around, fluster and embarrassment when he was present; really, how much longer until these reactions would just vanish? For that matter, _how_ was she to vanquish them?

Why did she always look so frightened of him? Balthier hid his frustration and gentled his approach: "I have startled you. I did not mean to."

"N-no. That is," Ashe shook her head, letting her gaze fall back on the bracelet on her vanity. She cleared her throat: "I was struggling to reach the clasp of my bracelet."

He stepped into her boudoir. Ashe took up the bracelet in her hand, extending it towards him. As he reached for the item, she hesitated, then unceremoniously dropped the cord of colored glass beads into his palm, making sure not to brush his fingers with hers, lest her nerves become obvious.

His jaw was set grimly as he pulled the string of beads tautly, wrapped the cord twice around her delicate wrist, and fastened the gold clasp at her pulse point. "There," he said smoothly.

He smelled so. Damned. Good. Soap, sandlewood cologne. With his head bent down over her wrist, her gaze was fixed on the hollows of his neck. She wanted to lean forward, nuzzle him there, kiss him there, feeling his shirt brush against her arms as he enveloped her in his embrace...

Ashe cleared her throat as she started to shift away from his enticing person. "Thank you," she answered, hiding the roughness of breath by speaking quietly.

Balthier nodded. "I shall leave you to your final preparations," he said, quick to retreat from her private domain.

Three minutes later, she arrived at their private sitting room to find her husband standing placidly at the window, watching the night sky. Though her step was quiet, he turned immediately, and stepped forward to offer his arm. "You look lovely, Ashelia."

"Thank you," she replied, wrapping her arm around his.

_Sabrienne_, written by Gilroy Creighton, was the first Dalmascan opera to premier in over a decade; this cultural milestone was given its due respect, spectacle, and glamour. Literati and glitterati convened in the newly restored Rabanastre Opera House for the event, which was long sold out before the tickets were even declared available.

The hot crush in the lobby wilted Ashe's spirits even as she smiled brighter to convey her patriotic delight. Balthier placed a protective arm about her, sheltering her exposed shoulders from champagne spills, sweaty palms, and hot breath. She drew closer to him, at times taking him by his reassuring, firm hand clasp, drawing on his steady strength.

They stopped for conversation where and when appropriate as they made steady progress towards their box. It was strange; for such a light, frothy affair, they neither of them succeeded at levity or charm. Polite, elegant, and boring: they'd become _that_ couple.

He'd become _that_ husband.

When had that happened?

She was shaken and startled out of her thoughts when she was taken up in an overeager embrace that smelled of cinnamon and mandarin oranges. The gold thread of the needlework of the tunic chaffed her skin. Two loud, wet sloppy kisses dotted her cheeks, and she felt her husband's clasp on her hand tighten in thrilling possessiveness.

"Ashelia!"

She returned the clasp reassuringly as she stepped back with a relaxed smile. "Al-Cid! How delightful to see you again."

He looked tired; the current unrest in his country had clearly taken a toll on him. He fought her worried glance with a friendly peck on her nose. "You look gorgeous. Marriage suits you. Both of you," he said, turning to Balthier.

Balthier stiffly offered his hand. "Margrace."

Al-Cid grinned, taking the hand and yanking the man by the arm into a bear hug of an embrace. Balthier visibly stiffened. "Bit much, don't you think?" Ashe heard him mutter.

"Never," Al-Cid returned quietly before continuing, louder: "I could not picture a better man for her. Except, perhaps, myself."

Neither husband nor wife appeared to take the statement seriously, and refrained from stating the obvious: the Rozarrian king had "missed" his opportunity of his own free will.

"And Lady Penelo," he smiled to the woman behind the royals, taking up her hand and placing a fervent kiss upon the back, and the palm. "I am surprised to see you here; I had thought that you would have returned to Archadia by now."

A slight rose tinted the young girl's cheek. "It is good to see you again, Your Highness."

"You know, Archadia should not be the only country to steal away fine young artists," he grinned with a wink. "You are always welcome to visit, with or without your queen."

Penelo smiled, then paled as she saw the tall figure who stood behind the Rozzarian. "L--Your Excellency."

"Lady Penelo," Larsa Solidor returned smoothly.

* * *

"...dramatics should be saved for the stage," he scowled, recalling the earlier events of the evening.

"There was a time when you would have appreciated the comedy," Basch observed as he polished his armor. "And I think it's a good reminder to Larsa that he mustn't take things for granted."

Balthier considered his friend's words as he picked at the brocade of the overstuffed armchair of the guest quarters. Quarters that he, himself, had occupied during his tenure as Ashe's protector. His reluctant acknowledgement of his friend's observation was in his silence. "How's Fran?"

"Good. She sends her regrets. She'll be glad to know that you and Ashe appear to be doing well."

"And Randal?" Balthier asked of his successor, leaving the hanging half inquiry unaddressed.

"A bit of a bumpy beginning, but nothing that time and experience won't take care of."

Balthier nodded, pushing off his seat and pacing the length of the Bhujerban rug. "Will he--"

"He will be fine. Focus on your situation, not his," Basch asserted.

Balthier maintained thoughtful silence as he took up Basch's helmet and inspected it. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he worked on a scratch.

"Larsa is going to ask Penelo to return to Archadia with him," Basch said, conversationally.

"Courtships _are_ often better conducted in person," Balthier replied, not missing a beat.

"Will...you be all right, without her?"

"Me? Ashelia? We'll be fine." Truth be told, Ashe had been distant with the girl ever since The Parliament Meeting. He'd also been hesitant to approach her, lest Ashe perceive it as a challenge to the lady-in-waiting's loyalty. Not to mention the extreme guilt he felt every time he met her accusing gaze.

Recalling the queen's skittish looks to her husband throughout the course of the evening, and Balthier's distant but courteous manner, Basch doubted Balthier's words, but maintained optimism as he replied. "Ashe looks well."

"Well enough," Balthier replied tersely. "We, both of us, have had to make adjustments to our new lifestyle."

"Undoubtedly. While some aspects of marriage come quite naturally, some others..." Basch said, ruefully.

"Speaking of which," Balthier reached into his waistcoat, withdrawing a cigar. Lifting a brow, he glanced to his friend.

Basch grinned in reply, taking the contraband up happily. "You are a good friend." After sniffing the exceptionally rich aroma of Balfonheim-grown tobacco, he sighed. "The best."

Balthier grinned his amusement as his friend took up the proffered gold-plated cigar cutter and lighter. After the first two slow, appreciative puffs, Basch settled back in his arm chair. "If I didn't love that woman so much..."

Balthier smiled, shaking his head.

"And you?" Basch gestured to the cigar.

Balthier shrugged.

"Ashe doesn't approve?"

"I don't know. I've never tested her."

"Never?" Basch raised a brow.

Balthier shook his head. Basch swore under his breath. "Dammit, Balthier. It's--"

The other man maintained his silence, his jaw clenched.

Basch pushed himself out of seat, taking another thoughtful puff of his cigar. Then reached into his pocket, taking out a wrinkled envelope. "Your business. Randall found this while he was setting up in your old quarters." When the other man didn't turn around, he placed the envelope on the end table. "I figured that you might want to return it to its rightful owner."

* * *

"I am glad that you agreed to meet with me this morning," he said carefully.

Penelo shrugged, feigning indifference. And though it was already quite warm outside, she gathered her shawl about her, searching for protection and strength. "It's a beautiful morning," she said politely.

She would not be won over with fancy words. She'd been played the fool. Over and over again.

Well, those times were over. She would not be manipulated, she would not be taken advantage of.

He took in the determined stiff set of her jaw, the hurt in her honest gaze. He offered his arm, and after a moment of deliberation, she must have decided that to refuse would have been rude.

"I was thinking we might walk towards the cactus gardens surrounding the south wing," she said.

"All right," he replied placidly. After a tense silent half-minute, it was clear; the burden of conversation was falling to him. "H-how are Balthier and Ashe?"

"Well enough," Penelo replied succinctly. "Though I am not in the confidence of either to say for sure," she said quietly. Lonely bitterness was absent from her voice, but imparted itself all the same.

Larsa clenched his fist, annoyed with himself for opening the conversation on a topic that upset her.

The silence between them was jarring, considering their former camaraderie. Larsa was at a loss for words or actions. How was he to dissolve her manufactured reserve? How was he to explain to her that, while he played a large role in Balthier and Fran's deceptions...

What? Though he played a large role, it was not his fault? That it was not his idea?

The excuses sounded cowardly and pithy in his mind, and he only imagined they'd sound empty and contrived when uttered aloud.

"I'm sorry."

Because at the root of it all, he was. It was how he felt.

She didn't reply. The apology lingered in the air between them. He knew she heard it; how could she not have? They'd been the only two words spoken in the last five minutes.

Politeness, courtesy demanded that she accept his apology. Not to mention class distinctions. She could not refuse. But his two words, while greatly appreciated, were woefully inadequate. Five years grieving for friends she'd thought dead. Two months of blatant deception. One month of mistrust from her queen.

"You're sorry?" she said.

The words startled him, they were saturated with a contempt that he'd heretofore not even known she'd possessed.

"I've been nice. I've exercised all faculty of sympathy and reason, and have been--" She cut herself off with a shake of her head. "Meanwhile, you've deceived and lied, and you think 'I'm sorry' will cover it. Perhaps _emperors_--"

Larsa put a hand to his arm, turning her towards him. "My birth does not entitle me to your forgiveness, and I would never have presumed it to be so." He took her by the shoulders; she shrugged off his touch, stepping away.

He ground his teeth to stifle the hurt at her refusal of his touch.

Still, she remained silent.

He shook his head, trying to recall the arguments he'd prepared. Trying to formulate a strategy. Trying to focus on his goal of convincing her to return to Archades with him. Trying to recall the methods of negotiation that'd worked in the past.

And completely, utterly failing at it.

He couldn't concentrate. Logical reasoning was clouded with emotion, fear, uncertainty.

He licked his dry lips, trying to say something, anything. And nothing, absolutely _nothing_ was coming.

Voice gruff with irritation, he said it simply: "Penelo, I am--"

_Saddened that you feel thus. Aware of how much pain you must have been put through. In admiration of your courage these past months, years._

"Penelo," he licked his lips once more, to try again. "I am...an idiot."

Penelo turned to him in surprise.

"I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to solve this." He stepped away from her to start pacing as he continued to speak. Robbed of eloquence, he stated things simply: "You hurt; I can't change that, and I can't even wish I could. And I miss you. I hate just sitting around in Archadia, wondering if you'll come back. It's boring, it's lonely. And I am falling in love with you."

He toed a rock in the pathway, then looked up, meeting her clear honest eyes with his own earnest gaze. "I messed up. And I'm sorry."

He did not move closer; neither did she. He watched her carefully, trying to pick up a reaction, any reaction, as he waited for his breath to slow, his hands to untremble themselves.

At length, she closed her eyes, cleared her throat. "The gardens are this way," she gestured along the path.

Pale and mortified, Larsa fell into step beside her. Mortification was somewhat attenuated when she slowly threaded her arm in his.

It dissipated completely when she quietly said, "Thank you."

* * *

He folded the corners of the envelope in on each other, inward, outward, backward. He slid his finger under the flap, looking inside. Nothing had changed in the last twenty-four hours; the ring was still there, and he still didn't know what to do with it.

The doors were thrown back quickly and Balthier looked up, balling up the envelope in his tight fist. "And could you make sure that the documentation on the Rensing Proclamation is on my desk tomorrow? I would like to look it over before I meet with the Bhujerban delegation. And--Balthier!"

Balthier met the surprised gaze of his wife. He stood up out of his seat quickly and bowed as Ashe stepped away from her lady-in-waiting.

Diena stood back, uncertain what to do next. In the two weeks since her installment, they'd never come upon the Prince Consort in the Royal Suite. "I'll have the proclamation ready..."

"That sounds good," Ashe said, breathily. "You are dismissed. Thank you, Lady Watkins."

Though Ashe did not watch, Diena gave a tight quick curtsy before leaving.

"Did we have plans for this evening? I am sorry to have gotten back so late..." she began, trying to recall her schedule for the day.

Balthier smiled, shaking his head. "No, ah, we had no plans. I dined with Larsa and Basch. Vaan arrived; he will bring them back to Archades early tomorrow morning. I decided to leave them to their business and come back here."

"I saw Larsa over tea this afternoon. He means to make off with Penelo. She has agreed to leave with him tomorrow." Ashe sighed, settling herself in the armchair across from his. "You were wise to suggest my bringing in Lady Watkins."

Balthier nodded, sitting back in his chair.

"Is something the matter?" Ashe asked. "You look worried. Did Basch or Larsa mention anything?"

"No, nothing," he said, clearing his throat. "Dinner was enjoyable."

"You must miss them, and Fran."

"On occasion," Balthier said. "But..." he shrugged.

Ashe nodded, understanding the sentiment, precluding the need for the rest to be said aloud.

"It _was_ enjoyable," he repeated, pushing himself out of seat. He paced to the empty fireplace and contemplated the mantle clock. Swearing to himself, he turned back to her, reaching into his waistcoat pocket. "Basch brought something for you. Something that I--Here."

He stepped forward with a wrinkled envelope in his hand. He lifted the flap and let the ring fall out onto the center of her palm.

She didn't even recognize it at first; strange, because when he'd first taken it from her five years ago, she'd feel its absence acutely. She'd pressed her thumb against her third finger, wanting to twist and fidget away her worries, and it'd been gone.

In his pocket.

The old wedding band gleamed, cleaner than it had been when she'd first handed it to him, bespeaking of its well cared-for history these past five years. Ashe took up the ring and looked to her husband, aware that he watched her for her reaction.

She bit her lip, unable to hide the emotion. Closing her fingers around the cold but warming metal, she replied quietly. "Thank you."

"It's yours," he said. "It always has been, and I had no right to take it away."

Her lips fell open again, a question upon them as she recalled the words he'd uttered when he'd taken the article: _I'll give it back to you. As soon as I find something more valuable._

Her lips were dry. Her tongue darted out to lick them, as the question tingled upon her lips: _Have you?_

He watched her carefully, took her shoulders into his large elegant hands, and bent forward for a kiss on the corner of her mouth. "I think I'll go out for a walk in the gardens. Please don't wait up. Good night."

"But..."

"Good night," he repeated, moving towards the doors.

"No," she said roughly, standing before him, putting a pleading hand on his arm. "Balthier!"

"Yes?"

His distance hurt. She reached up to caress his cheek, feeling the stubble-roughened planes of his aristocratic jaw. Gently but firmly, he took hold of her hand, and withdrew from her touch. "I had no right," he repeated. "I am sorry."

Ashe clenched the ring tightly in her hand as she watched her husband turn his back on her and leave their chamber. As the doors to the balcony closed behind him, she threw the relic across the room in frustration, throwing herself back in her seat.

She'd thought she'd seen something tonight, in his eyes. Vulnerability. Something that she could identify with. That spark of personality had been quickly quashed, his resolve, that damned resolve reappearing. Too quickly, the mask was on, the armor buckled, and his character, his mind, his heart, more hidden than ever.

Ashe leaned back in her seat, tilting her gaze heavenward, eyeing chase of light and shadow from the lanterns.

Control, restraint. Hallmarks of the man he was now, but...

...but he'd exercised a form of it before. His flamboyant behavior and practiced cynicism just as effectively distanced him from others as well.

Ashe pushed herself back up from the cushions as his words tumbled over themselves in her mind: _I had no right_.

Of course he hadn't: it'd been her property.

But _his uncertainty_.

His otherwise unflappable control of himself, the impressions he gave.

His sudden decision to propose to her.

His reluctance to touch her.

His reluctance to kiss her.

Ashe frowned, sitting up in her seat, moving across the room and searching the shadowy corner for the ring.

It took him _five years_ to inform her that he was still alive, and even then his hand had been forced, to a certain extent.

Left to his own devices, how long would he keep her waiting for the other boot to drop?

She caught the gleam in the corner of her eye, and picked up the ring once more. Clenching it in her fist, she sighed, realizing that enough was enough.

It was time for some drastic measures of her own.

* * *

Balthier frowned as he fixed his cuffs, staring at the unmade bed.

Correction: _half_ unmade bed.

The other half was unslept in. She'd not been asleep when he'd come back from his walk, but it was not unusual for her to go back to her study and look over reports. But he'd not expected to find, this morning, that she'd not come back at all.

Perhaps she'd kept vigil for her first husband. Perhaps, confronted with a physical reminder of the first man she'd married, she'd found the second so completely unfit to replace him that she'd stayed away out of sheer contempt or self-disgust. Stepping out of the bedroom and into the sitting room, he was surprised to encounter the strangest of tableaus. Larsa and Penelo stood in quiet conversation at the window. Vaan agitatedly paced the length of the room. And Basch looked downright amused.

Balthier raised a brow. "I thought you'd already left."

"Uh, no." Vaan said sheepishly, pulling a shaky hand through his hair.

"What is the matter?"

"Well, you see, the problem is, the _Strahl_'s been stolen."

Balthier frowned. "Stolen? We should--"

"Erm, locating it, or searching for it won't be necessary," Basch said, raising his arm, drawing attention to the card and envelope in his right hand. "For you," he presented to Balthier.

"Me?" He frowned, taking the envelope into his hands. He was confused to find the ring he'd given his wife just last night tucked inside. Taking up the card, he inspected it carefully. He recognized his wife's bold handwriting.

_Give this to my husband, will you?_

Flipping the card over, he read the words.

_Something more valuable: have you found it? I have; it awaits with me in Bervenia._


	15. Chapter 15

_Author's Note:_ Well, this is it. Thank you very much for reading, and thank you so much for your encouraging comments along the way.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy XII, nor do I own the characters.

**A Suitor for Ashe**

**Chapter Fifteen**

_And sometimes, if you are __very_ lucky...

_~Memoirs of the Duke of Bervenia_

* * *

"Pol, could you please bring more of the soil over here?"

Her bodyguard grimaced at the dirtiness of the task, but complied. Ashe smiled to him gratefully.

She took up some of the proffered soil, packing the roots of the rosebush in snugly. The bush looked rather meager now, but would be radiant with golden yellow blooms in the summer.

She pushed herself back, and Pol stepped forward to offer a hand up. Tired from her morning's exertions, Ashe gratefully accepted his aid. Arching her back in the growing light of the day, she heard tired bones crack in her shoulders. She massaged them slowly, becoming aware of her body's needs for the first time this morning. Her stomach trembled and moaned for sustenance. Her eyes felt heavy, her mind fuzzy from sleep deprivation.

She had needed to move quickly, though, if she was to complete her tasks before her husband's arrival.

Checking the position of the sun, she figured she only had a mere half hour left.

"Good morning, Ashelia."

Or not.

Ashe used her hand to shade her gaze as she turned to see her husband standing a mere twenty feet away.

A quick bath and breakfast would have to wait. "Good morning, Balthier," she casually greeted her husband.

His lips twitched in a frown as he approached her. Ashe pulled off her gardening gloves and ineffectually brushed at the dirt on her trousers.

Balthier turned to Pol. "Captain Tate. Thank you for protecting her. I presume you'd like some rest, perhaps something to eat?"

"That would be greatly appreciated, Your Highness." The guard smiled in relief, clearly grateful for the arrival of the Prince Consort. Traitor.

"You are dismissed," Balthier said.

Out of loyalty, the bodyguard sent a glance to Ashe, who gave a small nod of dismissal. With a bow, he eagerly set off.

Balthier took in her disheveled appearance slowly but without comment, then turned to scan the neat line of small rosebushes that flanked his library's south windows.

"You stole an airship that you are not even licensed to fly to _plant roses_?" he asked. Though his tone was conversational, remonstrance saturated every word.

She despised him for his placidity. "I have a license."

"For Class B ships. Not Class A."

"Close enough. Pol made sure we didn't crash," she shrugged.

"Two Class B licenses do not a Class A make," he lectured sternly.

Ashe shook her head, opened her mouth to retort, but instead changed the subject. "Tell me what you think of the roses."

Balthier ground his teeth at his wife's attempt to take the focus off of her transgressions, but at length, realizing they'd both said all they were going to on the matter, permitted the change of topic. "They'll grow up well."

"With enough sunlight, care, and water."

"Why are we here, Ashelia?"

When he said her full name like that, he made her nervous. Ashe's hands fluttered to her shoulder, where she wound a lock of hair around her finger. "I wanted to give you something," she said quietly.

Balthier fingered the leaf of one of the bushes. "They're lovely. Thank you."

"I'm glad you like them. I hope that, some time this summer, when you're in the library reading, you can look out the window and see them and be reminded of me."

"Reminded?" The word crystallized into tiny prickles in his heart.

"Balthier, the roses, while part of it, are not what I want to give you." She stood up, wiping dirt from the holey trousers. "This is a home, Balthier. This is _your_ home."

"My home? I--" He shook his head, trying to understand what she was saying.

"You have never had one. You never had a chance; raised in boarding schools, raised to expectations. Always pretending to be something you're not. I'm telling you now, Balthier, you don't have to any more. Not here."

"I don't have to." Balthier repeated her words, stepping away. He clenched his fists to keep his hurt in check. He felt the color rise in his cheek, as if she'd slapped it. "So you want me to be here. Away from you."

Hearing it put that way made her nearly withdraw the idea. Ashe swallowed the selfish emotion back, trying to keep her husband's interests her primary concern. "Away from my court, where you are doing your best but--"

Not waiting to hear her summarize his glaring deficiencies, he interrupted her: "And you?"

"I'll miss you, but I think this would be better."

"And my responsibilities? What about an heir?"

Ashe shrugged. "We can reduce your responsibilities, and some of them you can handle from here. You'll need to come back to Rabanastre for a few events, of course. We'll deal with an heir when we have to. Balthier, I want for you to seriously think this over before you say no. Every day I see more of..." she gestured, unable to fix on the appropriate word. "It's not right."

_It's not right._ Balthier tried to hold her gaze, to demonstrate that her words did not hurt him. The chilling truth was that he was being sent away. Again.

He'd done his best; he'd still disappointed.

But then again, how had he ever expected to measure up? She loved a dead man, a paragon.

He should have run while he'd had the chance. He should have ignored his unrest, his guilt, his...

Ashe lowered her gaze to her hands. Balthier moved to the brick wall, contriving to make his stance casual and hide his need for the physical support.

"I am sorry that you feel that way," he said. "Is there nothing else that--"

"Don't you see, Balthier? I don't want you to _try_ anymore!" Ashe colored at the urgency of her words.

His jaw tightened. Trying his hardest to sound polite, he asked, tersely. "Well, what would you rather have me do?"

Ashe stifled her exasperation and tried to keep her patience. In all her conceptions of this reunion, she'd not anticipated feeling so very frustrated at this moment. _I would have you love me the way I love you._ "I would have you be happy."

"Here," he said. Shakily pushing himself from the wall, he stepped away from the building.

"Havenhurst is beautiful, quiet, and peaceful. You can spend your days doing whatever you want; you love to read. You can unpack and organize your library." It had sounded like a much better idea when she'd first conceived it. Now, with the words uttered aloud, with him standing there with that skeptical tilt in his chin, Ashe felt foolish.

"You want me to stay here and organize my library?" he asked, doubtfully.

"Among other things. I know you are unacquainted with the ways of the idle, but you may find that you could enjoy it. I think you could be happy here," she persisted.

"You think I could be happy here. You don't think that I am happy in Rabanastre? Perhaps I am not vocal--"

"Balthier, don't _reason_ with me anymore. You don't need to speak. I _know_. This is what I can reason: you hid from me for five years. You revealed yourself to me only when you had to. You proposed to me out of an unwarranted sense of obligation. You're becoming something you're not just to please me and my court." Ashe sighed, playing with the fraying edges of her gloves. "Despite your best efforts to keep yourself uninvolved, you always get pulled in. It speaks to a deep compassion and an admirable sense of justice. But you shouldn't have to sacrifice your personal happiness just because you have a misplaced sense of responsibility. I...esteem you too much to let you do so," she paused, her color high. "So," she took a deep breath. "Here." She extended her arm to gesture to the house. "Your prize."

Her heart was pounding. She took in his set jaw. He was going to tell her that she was wrong, he'd make his arguments. She'd be tempted to let herself be persuaded to bring him back with her. To let him try again. To lose more of himself as he tried to fit in.

She could not permit that.

"You _esteem_ me?" he asked, stiffly.

Ashe's throat dried up at his raised brow; what was that expression in his eye? Disgust? Discomfort? Curiosity? Unable to speak, she nodded.

"As you, perchance, _esteem_ your friends? As you _esteem_ Penelo?" He asked.

She nodded her head, swallowing past the parched throat, forcing herself to answer the affirmative. "More," she managed to answer roughly. "Balthier..."

He stepped forward, taking her hands up in his cold, firm grip. "And...and is this _esteem_ all I should ever hope from you?" he asked quietly.

Her throat closed up on his question, the intensity in his eyes. When she cleared her throat to speak, he shook his head, looking away at the horizon once again. He was trying to calm himself down.

Where did this air of dignified indignation come from? _And is this esteem all I should ever hope from you?_ Who in Ivalice was he to stand and condemn? Patience snapped, exasperation hissed with the exhale. Angry, flustered, Ashe stepped into his line of sight. "Look at me!"

She was unprepared for the scathing heat of gaze. "Look at you? _Look at me._ I should have known," he laughed cynically.

Ashe replied tersely. "Quit the riddles and explain yourself. Known what?"

"I'd thought I'd grown beyond wanting things I can't have. I have done _everything in my power_ to show you that I can make you happy. I've done everything I can to be like _Him_, to be someone that you would not be ashamed to be wed to, and still you condemn me with wistful looks and exile me from your presence? You feel _esteem_," he uttered the word disdainfully, "when you are _everything_ to me?"

Ashe blanched at the harsh tone, incredulous at the words he was uttering. She turned, needing a moment to process the situation.

"No," he grabbed her shoulders. "_Look at me._"

Frustration and overwhelming feeling paralyzed her voice. When she could manage it, she replied tersely: "You have a strange way of showing those feelings, then!" Ashe met his passionate stare with her own healthy ire. "Look at you? _You_ are the one who hid. _You_ are the one who wore the mask."

"It was a mistake!" he said.

"Oh, do you _make_ those?" she asked sarcastically. "Because nowhere in all of this have I heard you utter one word of regret over what you've done."

"Ok, I get it; Fran and I hurt you when we did not inform you of our survival."

Ashe threw up her arms. "It" wasn't just about that. Well, "it" was; "it" contained just about everything in their interactions from the moment they'd met. "_Why_, Balthier?"

Balthier put a hand to his forehead.

"If I was _everything_ to you, why didn't you come home?" she asked, quieter, hurt evident in her voice.

Balthier winced at her expression of transparent hurt. "And offer what?" he asked quietly. "I couldn't come back and _not_ have you. I couldn't come back to watch you just walk away."

"So you walked away first?'

"I ran," he admitted gruffly. "It was the only thing I knew how to do." Balthier gazed at her features longingly. "I didn't run far enough. I tried to make a new life for myself. I tried to forget you. I couldn't. I'm not sure if I ever could. I was in love with you. I am in love with you. And, I strongly suspect that I will always love you." When it hurt too much to look at her anymore, he turned away. "And this is reciprocated with _esteem_."

Ashe licked her lips. "I--" Unable to articulate the saturation of emotions that thrilled her at this moment, she simply threw herself against her husband and pulled his mouth to hers.

The sure grasp on his shoulders, the warmth of her curves against his chest, the weight of her hands against the back of his neck enveloped him in sensation as the press of her lips against his enticed him to open his own mouth and drink of her emotions, to pull her impossibly closer, to span his hands across her back, let them travel up the rough fabric until they cupped her head, tilting her mouth gently so that he could kiss her deeper.

Pulling back, leaning her forehead into his chest, she said the words she'd waited weeks, months, years to tell him steadily, clearly so that she could not be misunderstood: "Your feelings are reciprocated with the _deepest esteem_, warmest affection, most ardent passion, and the most...I love you."

And hearing her say the words, he felt _content_. The feeling saturated him until he was sure he could not feel anything else. Smiling down at this amazing person in his arms, he couldn't do anything but grin stupidly, boyishly. "So...ah. Good," he said simply.

Ashe flushed at his grin, unaccustomed to his levity, unaccustomed to her own feeling of lightness, relief, gratitude, and love. He couldn't and wouldn't let go, and she couldn't stop touching him.

"No more of this nonsensical talk of my being here while you're not. My home isn't here. My home is where you are."

Ashe grinned stupidly at his words and he kissed her again. She enthusiastically enjoyed his kiss, and hoped that her own love, her own passions, her own desires were articulated in her own. She was gratified to hear his acknowledgment in his gruff groan, his accelerated heart beat. A quick heartbeat that matched her own.

And when she realized just how easily everything could have turned out differently, she punched him lightly against the chest. "That's what you get for your heavy-handed decisions!"

Too relieved, too happy to give due respect to her half-hearted remonstrance, Balthier gave a gasp of a laugh. "I did it all for your own good."

"Fat lot of good it did, when you were preparing me for matrimony to another man," she said, holding on to him tighter, afraid he'd disappear.

"I thought it was a noble gesture. Proof of my unselfish love for you," he said.

She shook her head as she leaned against his shoulder. "Leading men are _such_ drama queens."

Balthier turned to her. She grinned, and he laughed loudly, freely. Sweeping his wife up in his arms, he carried her home.

* * *

"It wasn't him I missed, you know," she said seriously, tracing the line of his profile.

Balthier traced the smooth line of his wife's bare shoulder, down into the dip of her collarbone. Leaning forward, he kissed it, licked at it, tracing a line up her neck now with his lips. His fingers danced down her back, tracing shivery, scintillating lines across her skin as his rough palms came around to cup her...

Ashe moaned as her senses urged her to shut up and once more submit herself to her husband's more than welcome attentions, but his previous words still haunted her.

There would be no more misunderstanding.

Reluctantly, she pulled herself away from his warmth, his addictive touch, reaching to the foot of the bed for the discarded sheets. "Balthier."

Balthier regarded her with his heavy-lidded gaze. As he observed her serious expression, he slowly pushed himself up against the pillows and regarded her patiently.

"These past months. It--it wasn't Rasler that I regretted or missed. It was you. I missed _you_."

Balthier contemplated her words slowly. At length, he constructed his reply. "Ashe, I won't ever be just a sky pirate anymore."

"You never were. Not after I got to know you. You are...extraordinary. And I love all of you. But I am serious. I will not have you believe that you should assume the mannerisms of a man you foolishly imagine that I must want you to be."

Though the room was dim in the dying light of the day, her eyes shone bright with honest emotion. The expression was unmistakable: she loved him. She wanted him.

"I--I don't think, in my life, I'd ever wanted anything more," he stated simply. "I wanted...so much..." He pulled her close brushing away the sheet, kissing her on the forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, her chin, her lips...

"Oh, don't worry, Brenda. I'm sure they won't mind..."

Balthier pulled back with a frown and growl at the door. As the knob rattled against the lock, the would-be intruder gave a bark of a laugh. "We've given you four days! I want my ship back!"

"Flamboyant fop with his--" Balthier grumbled.

Ashe raised her brow. "_We_?" she mouthed.

"Perhaps it'd be best for you to join the others in the drawing room, Mr. O'Neal. If you'll just come this way, I think _His Eminence_ had wanted to ask you about Perfayth..." Madame Harris replied loudly to their unwelcome guest.

Balthier swore as he pushed himself out of the bed. Ashe sat up, once more taking up the sheet. Though propriety and politesse demanded that she get a move on and dress quickly, she had to pause to admire the poetry of sinew and scars of her husband's body. She'd married a beautiful man. Over the shirt he picked up, Balthier eyed her interest warily. "Not now, Ashe," he muttered. "I've got to get rid of our meddlesome intruders."

Ashe laughed, pulling herself up off the bed, lightly danced across the room to give her beloved another kiss. "No, you will not. You will get dressed, and you will join me in greeting our guests. It's an evening for jokes and storytelling."

He winced at the mischievous sparkle in his wife's eye. "And not a little public groveling? You're never going to let us live it down, will you?"

"Larsa, probably. Basch and Fran, after a considerable amount of time. Vaan, perhaps after a few decades. And you?" She stepped close to him, tracing a line up his chest, curving her fingers around his shoulder. "After a lifetime of happily ever after. Perhaps."

Balthier laughed. "It's only fair, I suppose."

Ashe grinned. "You're pretty sure of yourself."

"Perhaps. But I'm just as sure of you."

Ashe blinked back the sudden onslaught of emotion. "We're turning into sentimental fools," she said, succinctly.

"My deepest apologies, Madame Wife. It will not happen again," he replied complacently.

On a laugh, she kissed him once more before moving towards the boudoir. She paused at the doorway. After a moment in deep contemplation, Ashe sighed in mock concession as she turned back. "Perhaps only on Sundays."

His lips twitched in a smile. "Perhaps."

**The End**


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